Behind the Veil
by Black.Rose.Authoress
Summary: Seven years ago, a teenage boy left home and never returned. Two years ago, another died in a tragic car accident. Today, the past is coming back to haunt those that were left behind... And nothing is as it first appears. AU.
1. Chapter 1

**Behind the Veil**

**Part 1**

All Ludwig needed right now was a nice, long, scalding-hot shower that could wipe away all of the stress that seemed a constant part of his life. He could imagine it now; the hot water running down his body in a steady stream in a silent shower room. No having to deal with intolerably slow and bug-infested computers that should have been replaced years ago, but hadn't because Mr. Edelstein was a skinflint. No having to deal with his insane roommate and his even more insane friends.

Just nice, hot, cleansing water.

Unfortunately, reality seemed to have a personal grudge against Ludwig.

"Ve~ Ludwig! You're just in time! Can you fix the lamps for me? The lighting from outside is getting too weak and I want to finish this part before tomorrow!"

"Ah, bonjour, Ludwig! How was work?"

"Hola, Ludwig!"

Because Ludwig opened the door to his dorm room to find—find—Let's just say that Ludwig would have turned around and walked straight out of the room if it weren't for the fact that his entire body had just gone into shock and he couldn't move an inch.

Feliciano was currently standing in the centre of the room, paint palette held in one hand, brush held in the other, an easel holding an almost-finished painting set up in front of him. His head was cocked to the side as he stared at one spot on the canvas, the tip of his brush held a few centimetres away.

Francis, Feliciano's cousin, was seated on Ludwig's bed, watching the younger Italian with interest as Feliciano mumbled to himself, obviously debating some point of the painting.

That wasn't what had caused Ludwig to completely lose all basic motor skills, however. No, what had completely startled Ludwig was the fact that, lying on Feliciano's bed, propped up by a few dozen pillows, was Francis's roommate, Antonio Fernandez Carriedo. Completely nude.

Francis caught Ludwig's horrified expression and grinned. "Isn't it beautiful? Antonio's a perfect model, right, Feli?"

"Ve~" Feliciano glanced up from his painting and grinned. "Sì. He's very good at this."

Antonio beamed at the praise, completely oblivious to the fact that Ludwig looked as if he were about to pass out in shock at finding a naked man in his dorm room.

He was used to Feliciano doing odd things. Like the time he had randomly decided to paint the ceiling of their dorm room like a miniature Sistine Chapel; Ludwig was still shocked that they hadn't gotten into trouble for that. Or the one night when Feliciano had decided to treat the entire dorm to pasta. The school's president had even shown up for that one...

But this... This was just too much for Ludwig.

"Feliciano... Why is Antonio naked in our room?"

Feliciano turned around at this, his eyes widening slightly as he noticed the displeased expression on his roommate's face. "Ve~ Are you angry, Ludwig? I needed a model for my new painting and Antonio and Francis happened to come by. And Francis volunteered, but Antonio was closer to the body structure I needed. You aren't mad, are you?"

Ludwig had no idea how to respond. He really _really _just needed that hot, relaxing shower right now.

Which was why he finally walked into the room, grabbed his tote, towel, and a change of clothes, and walked out without another word. Leaving Feliciano to his painting and Antonio to his modelling and Francis to his—whatever he was doing there...

Ludwig often wondered how in the world he had ended up rooming with Feliciano. He distinctly remembered the process of filling out the compatibility survey that the college had sent him; how he'd slaved over answering every question as accurately as possible. And there had been dozens of things that they'd asked him about: what his personality was like, his ideas on cleanliness, what kind of person he thought would be a good fit for him. He'd spent weeks working on that sheet, trying to make sure that his answers reflected his thoughts perfectly.

And he'd ended up with Feli.

Not that he disliked Feliciano. He was pretty sure that it was impossible to dislike Feli. The kid was sweet, eager to please, ridiculously friendly. When Ludwig had walked into his room on the first day, he'd immediately been greeted with a huge hug and a barrage of questions. "What's your name? Where are you from? What are you studying? Do you like pasta?"

He'd gotten Feliciano's whole life story within a few minutes of meeting him. He was an art major; he had brought dozens of paintings with him in order to make the room 'more homey', which he'd proceeded to hang while continuing to talk with his new roommate.

He was here with a full-ride scholarship; he'd always wanted to go to this school but had never thought he'd be able to afford it. It had been an answer to prayer when the letter had shown up in the mail...

Ludwig sighed, shaking those thoughts out of his head as he made his way down the hallway to the showers, passing a few open doorways in the process. One of which held a group of students watching a movie that caused them to burst into laughter as he passed.

And then he heard a loud, boastful exclamation from within. "Well, it's just 'cause I'm awesome like that..."

"_That's because I'm your awesome big brother, Luddy!"_

And he immediately hurried on, faster than before. No, he couldn't think about that. Not now. Not ever. He just needed to think about the shower that he would soon be taking...

Shower. Warm water running down his skin...

Washing away all of the stress—all of the worries... Washing away everyth—

"Shit. I can't read my own fucking handwriting... Hey! Does anyone here know which room is Ludwig's?"

Ludwig turned, startled from his contemplations by the sound of his name being shouted down the hallway. And then he groaned as he recognized the man who was precariously balancing a box in one hand and a clipboard in the other. Mathias Køhler. Also known as one of the most obnoxious, loud, chaotic students in this entire university.

"Anyone know what room Ludwig Bail—Beil—Ludwig B. is in?"

Ludwig sighed, considering just ignoring him, but he'd probably just keep screaming until somebody answered him. Probably Kiku, since he was the only truly helpful person on this floor. And then the two of them would go to his room, open the door, and be greeted by a naked Spaniard. And he did _not _want to deal with the chaos that that would cause. So instead, he set his tote on the floor and headed toward the shouting man. "I'm right here, Mathias."

"There you are, Ludwig! I knew you lived on this floor, but I couldn't remember what room you were in!" Mathias beamed as he stepped forward, holding up the box proudly. "Look what somebody dropped off in the post office for ya! You got a secret admirer or something?"

Ludwig sighed as he recognized the gleam that passed through Mathias's eyes. It didn't matter how he answered, the whole university would know about Ludwig's non-existent secret girlfriend by the end of the night. "I have no idea who could have sent it."

"It was a guy." He grinned, as he continued to balance the box on one hand. Ludwig hurriedly stepped forward to grab it before the cocky boy managed to drop it—and knowing his luck, it'd end up being some priceless Ming vase that had been addressed to him by mistake and he'd end up having to pay for... "A blond guy... Shy, soft voice, kind of effeminate looking..." He smirked and suddenly punched Ludwig right in the shoulder, making him wince. "Luddy, my man! I knew you were popular with the ladies, Mr. Muscles, but the guys too?"

Never mind, now he was going to have rumours spread around the entire university about Ludwig's non-existent secret homosexual lover. Perfect. Just perfect. As if people didn't already talk because of Feliciano's ridiculous clinginess around him.

"I didn't know the post office made personal deliveries," he stated instead, hoping to change the subject.

"We don't." Mathias grinned, showing a set of overly-white teeth as he leaned forward, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "But this guy was real suspicious. He wouldn't leave his name or anything, just said that it was incredibly important that you get this package as soon as possible. Even gave me twenty bucks if I promised to take it to you personally!"

"I thought you technically don't even work at the post office, you just hang out there during Nikolas's shift?"

Mathias just grinned and waved the remark aside. "Can you really see Niko making the trip all the way up here just to deliver a package? He said I could just keep the twenty bucks. That does remind me, though, I should probably head back to the Campus Centre before my buddy misses me..."

Ludwig had the feeling that Nikolas wouldn't miss him at all. Actually, more likely, he'd sent Mathias up here so he could finally have a moment of peace for himself.

"All right, well, thank you for bringing up the package. I'm sorry that you had to make the trip..."

And Mathias waved this remark aside as well. "No problem! Although, since I _did _make the trip all the way up here, I think it would be only fair for you to let me see what's inside that box of yours!"

Ludwig sighed. How had he known that was coming? "It probably was just a mistake. I don't know anyone who'd send me anything."

"Besides your secret admirer."

Ludwig sighed, as he flashed a weary look toward the other man, who just laughed in amusement and motioned toward the box again. "Come on, open it! I wanna see what you got!"

He knew that there was no way that he was getting out of showing whatever was inside to the other man. Hopefully it _was_ something boring and not something that would provide the Danish student with anymore gossip fodder. He did _not _want to be this week's hot topic...again.

"All right, but it's not something from a secret admirer. I can tell you that much already." Or it better not be, although knowing his luck...

Mathias watched with interest as Ludwig carefully began to remove the tape from the top of the box, and then opened the flaps.

Roses.

A huge bouquet of red roses.

For a moment, he just stared at them in shock. Wha—what?

"I told you it was a secret admirer! Ludwig, you dog!" And now Mathias smacked him on the back, chuckling in amusement as he tapped his chin with his clipboard. "Ah, Ludwig..."

"This—it must be a mistake—" Ludwig just stared at the flowers, not wanting to touch them... What in the world? Why would someone suddenly give him flowers like this? He couldn't think of anyone who had expressed interest...

"Hey, why don't I help ya figure out who sent them, Luddy? I'll find out about the guy who brought them. Ya never know; you might have inflamed some passion in his soul!"

Ludwig sent him an irritated glare.

"Or it could be a mistake. You're no fun." The student grinned again, saluting him with the hand holding the clipboard. "I'll see ya around later, although you should really come down and visit me and Niko sometime. It gets so boring down there sometimes; I don't know what Niko would do if I weren't there to liven things up."

The poor kid would probably be able to actually get some work done, Ludwig thought, barely paying any attention as Mathias disappeared into the elevator. Instead, he ran his fingers through the packing peanuts that filled the rest of the box. Maybe there was a note?

And then he felt something underneath his fingertips.

Something incredibly familiar.

Something that made his stomach immediately clench in a mixture of shock and horror.

And then he was startled by the sound of something hitting the floor right by his feet.

The box... He'd dropped the box...

"Ludwig-san, are you all right?" And his suddenly panicked thoughts were interrupted by a concerned voice coming from a few doors down. A concerned voice belonging to Kiku, also known as the only person on the entire floor who actually possessed the ability to read the atmosphere.

And who would be able to tell that something was wrong. Something was _definitely_ wrong.

_Why? Who would—It couldn't have to do with..._

_No. No. It couldn't possibly. He was gone. He'd walked out of his life without a backwards glance almost seven years ago. It couldn't..._

"I'm fine, Kiku. Just...Slipped..."

There was a moment of silence, as the Japanese student just stared at him. Ludwig knew that Kiku could tell he was lying; the fact that his face had probably gone completely white, the fact that his hands were now shaking uncontrollably, and the fact that he hadn't yet moved to pick up the box were all rather obvious hints that something was wrong.

"Well, if you're sure, Ludwig-san..."

But Kiku was much too polite to ever accuse him of lying. If he said that things were fine, then Kiku wouldn't question him. Thank God.

Ludwig hurriedly nodded, as his dorm mate stared at him for a few more seconds and then disappeared back into his room, leaving him alone in the hallway.

And now he finally bent down, picked up the box and clearing away the packing peanuts that had fallen out... Fingers against..._that _again. Before he finally found it. The letter that he'd been searching for before his fingers had brushed against something else.

Yes, there was his name on the envelope. It was written in a loopy, unfamiliar script, but it was his name. Meaning that this couldn't be a mistake.

Couldn't be a mistake...

He had to go. Somewhere else. Somewhere away...

And now he suddenly was hurrying towards the stairs, too distracted to even notice that he'd just left his shower supplies in the middle of the hallway. He'd go to Professor Jackson's classroom; he knew that it would be open and it was unlikely that anyone else would be there. He could go and think and figure out what was going on.

Who had sent this? _Why _had they sent it?

His boots pounded heavily as he hurried down the stairs, mind racing along various paths. So wrapped up in his own thoughts that he didn't even notice when he almost ran right into Alfred Jones—a freshman who lived on his floor—on the third floor landing.

Something cold and metal was resting at the bottom of the box that he was currently crushing against his chest. Something cold, metal, and frighteningly familiar...

"_Hey, don't worry, Luddy. It's only a precaution. It's not like I'll ever actually use it..."_

It couldn't be the same. It couldn't— Not after seven years... It didn't make any sense.

Ludwig honestly had no idea how he managed to make it all the way to Professor Jackson's classroom. Since he was currently about five seconds away from having a complete mental breakdown. All he really knew was that he somehow made his way into the building, up the stairs, down the currently-empty hallway, and felt a wave of relief pass through his entire body when he pushed the door open and was greeted with the sight of a completely empty room.

He immediately closed the door again, pausing for a moment before locking it. He'd just be here for a few minutes. It was unlikely that anyone else would show up at this time of day, after all.

He just needed a few minutes. Because it _couldn't _be...

Ludwig walked across the room, setting the box on top of one of the lab tables. And then he just stared at it...

It _couldn't _be. There was no way. It had been _seven years_...

And now he took a deep breath, attempting to relax himself. Calm down. He was acting like he was afraid the thing was going to blow up or something. It was just a box; just a box. His fingers settled on the flaps, carefully pulling them apart. Revealing the roses and packing peanuts and the letter sitting on top...

He took that out first, setting it aside for a moment. Then he removed the roses, unsure exactly what he should do with them. They must be fresh, since they weren't showing any signs of wilting. So, the box must have been packed recently—probably within the day.

_Which meant that he might be here. In the city. So close..._

He hurriedly pushed that thought away, now dipping his hand amongst the little pieces of Styrofoam, searching blindly for a few moments. Before his fingers settled on the cold, metal object again.

"_...Only a precaution."_

_A precaution against _what_?_

And he slowly, slowly pulled it out. Hands shaking as he gazed at the black, smooth object rising from the mess of curled greenish-white shapes...

A handgun.

Not just any handgun. _That _handgun.

The handgun that he had last seen in his brother's hands.

That night. The night before he disappeared... The night before Gilbert _left _without even saying goodbye. Abandoned him without any attempt at explaining _why_...

Gilbert's handgun. Ludwig stared down... Stroked his fingers against the carefully polished metal. Only marred by a few scratches in the shape of a 'G'.

_Why? Why was he— Did this mean that Gilbert—_

And now he threw himself at the letter, fingers clutching and bending and he tore the envelope so violently that he almost ripped the letter inside right in half.

And only two words. Two words in spiky, violent, unfamiliar handwriting.

_Protect Feliciano._

That was all.

* * *

A/N: So, this idea has been in my head for probably close to a year... I wrote the first half forever ago but then got distracted by other stuff and couldn't work up the motivation to continue.

So, what do you think? I don't want to say much about the story, since it's supposed to be a semi-mystery/suspense/adventure story and saying pretty much anything will give it away. It'll focus on a lot of different characters. There will be romance subplots... And yep.

Ummm, and I'm kind of using this as a replacement for Galehus. Since that one is on hiatus for a variety of reasons. I will work on it again, someday. But probably not for a while. Sorry... -.-

Title for this came from a line in Lord Tennyson's poem "In Memoriam"; which really has nothing to do with anything except for the fact that I love Tennyson... :)

And a warning that updates for this story will be slowish, since the chapters are going to be longer and the plot is incredibly complex so I'm going to need to do a lot more planning, plotting, and proofreading to make sure that everything works together and I don't contradict myself... Which I have a tendency to do, as I'm sure some of you have noticed... Haha...


	2. Chapter 2

**Behind the Veil**

**Part 2**

There was such a fine line between right and wrong... Between good and evil.

Matthew often felt as if he were straddling that line, standing with a foot on either side. Desperately fighting to keep his balance as grasping hands tugged and tore and dragged and sweet honey-coated lips pleaded for him to fall... Fall to one side or the other. Become purely evil or purely good.

And perhaps he would fall. Perhaps he would make his decision. If only he knew which side was which...

No one had noticed him when he had driven into and walked onto that campus earlier this morning with a cardboard box nestled in his arms. Not surprisingly. It was a massive university and he was the type of person who blended in with a crowd, particularly when that crowd was filled with other college-aged students.

The only thing that had worried him was the fact that he was sneaking into the same university that his brother attended. Not that he worried that his brother would think to question why he was there; it would just be inconvenient... Especially if he had managed to catch him before he'd relinquished his burden.

But his worries had been in vain. He'd easily found his way to the post office without catching even a glimpse of his brother. And there had only been two boys working. One of whom had been reading a book; he had looked up at him for a moment and then proceeded to completely ignore his presence. The other boy had been much friendlier, perhaps even a little _too_ friendly. It had taken the much quieter man at _least_ ten minutes to break into the other man's exclamations long enough to explain that he had a box that needed to be delivered to Ludwig Beilschmidt as soon as possible. He was even willing to pay twenty bucks if he delivered it personally. The boy had immediately leapt at that offer...

You couldn't say that delivering a box like that was really _wrong _or _evil_, could you? Especially since he had no real idea what was inside.

Even if the man who had given him the box was one of the most dangerous figures living in this city.

In this city that is secretly controlled by societies of deadly men who know little outside of blood and wealth. Violence and power. Death and destruction.

He passed through the city, eyes always fixed upon the ratty, stained sneakers that he had bought ages ago and never bothered to replace. He knew that the sky was a filthy shade of grey, meaning that soon it would start raining. People were rushing past him, desperate to beat the shower-to-come.

He didn't bother to hurry; instead, he continued at his steady pace. Heels tapping against the pavement in a fixed rhythm, leading him toward his destination: a little coffee shop on the corner of Maple and 22nd. Theirusual meeting place.

His eyes rose as he approached the familiar building... Immediately settling on a figure leaning against the brick wall. A figure dressed in a darkly-coloured trench coat that stood in stark contrast to his unnaturally pale skin and silvery-white hair. Smoke wafted around his head, drifting from the cigarette held between his fingers.

"Gilbert."

It often amazed him how Gilbert could hearhim so easily. Even when he was standing so far away and even if he spoke in his usual, soft voice. Most people had trouble hearing him when he was standing right beside them; most people had trouble even noticing him at all...

But Gilbert always noticed him and always seemed to hear him. He would turn his head, like he did now. His lips twisting into a smile. And then he would drop the cigarette onto the pavement, crushing it under the heel of his boot before walking towards the other man.

"Birdie." He repeated his name—or, the nickname that he had given him soon after they'd first met—in the same tone that Matthew had used, eyes sparkling with a hint of amusement. He reached out, offering his hand in an over exaggerated, gentlemanly manner, smile never leaving his lips. "You were successful in our mission? Infiltrating that nest of vipers and other nasties?"

"Is that what we're calling universities nowadays?" Matthew laughed as he took the offered hand. And then squeaked as he was spun around, one of Gilbert's hands moving to rest on the small of his back, the other holding his hand. So they were soon standing in a position...as if they were about to start slow-dancing.

Matthew blinked at his partner in confusion.

And earned a chuckle in response. Gilbert now gently used the hand against Matthew's back to guide him into a sort of swaying motion. "You can't imagine how important it was that you did that for me, Birdie. How about I buy you something as a present?" The hand on his back now shifted to his waist and then he was being spun around. "How 'bout a beach house? Or a new car?"

"How about coffee?" They were facing each other again; he slid his arms around the other's shoulders, rather amused by this whole situation. He was randomly slow-dancing in the middle of the sidewalk with Gilbert...

Who wrinkled his nose at the remark, sighing as he shook his head. "Birdie, Birdie, Birdie, now you know that a private jet is out of the question." He leaned forward slightly, so their lips were only a few centimetres apart. So that their breath mixed with every exhale. "Unless you ask very nicely, I suppose..."

It was so hard to worry about things like right and wrong in moments like these. Hard to pay attention to the portion of his brain that kept telling him that he shouldn't be here. He shouldn't be standing in the arms of one of the most dangerous criminals in the city... He shouldn't have delivered that package; he shouldn't do anything that Gilbert asked him to do. And he definitely shouldn't kiss him right now...

And he ignored that side of his brain, like usual. As he leaned forward, lips gently brushing against Gilbert's for a moment, before he tilted his head back for a moment and murmured softly... "How about coffee _and _a piece of their homemade maple cake?"

He was answered by a nod, a laugh, and then a much longer, much sweeter kiss...

~.~.~

Matthew absolutely adored this coffeehouse. Ever since Gilbert had first brought him here almost a year ago. It was just so warm and homey, and the elderly husband and wife who owned the shop were incredibly kind. And the wife made the best maple cake in the _world_.

Which he was currently enjoying. He sighed in absolute rapture as heaven burst across his taste buds.

"Yeah, you're definitely onto something here, Birdie. This cake is a million times more awesome than a private jet." Gilbert had practically inhaled his first piece of cake and was now wolfing down the second. It reminded Matthew rather disturbingly of his brother and his hamburgers...

"So..." He hesitated for a moment, his pause capturing Gilbert's complete attention. The man's ruby-red eyes settled on him, instantly alert and searching. He coughed and stared down at the half-eaten piece of cake, scratching at the frosting with his fork. "Am—Am I allowed to know what was in that package? Or..." He paused again, since he knew that he didn't need to complete that sentence.

_Or do I not _want_ to know?_

He really didn't know that much about what Gilbert did... And he much preferred to keep it that way. All he really knew was that he worked for the leader of one of the city's most powerful gangs—Matthew had no idea of his identity; Gilbert only ever referred to him as 'the kid'—doing various jobs... What sort of jobs? He had no idea.

And he didn't want to know. Because if he didn't know, then he could keep pretending that this was okay. It was all right that he'd fallen in love with this man. Because he wasn't really _evil_. Yes, he worked outside of the law, but...he wasn't _evil_.

His brother had always wanted to divide the world into black and white. Good and evil. Heroes and villains. But Mattie had never believed that things were as simple as that. You could be not-quite-good and still not be truly evil.

_Right?_

"Of course you can know what was in the box, Birdie. I wouldn't have asked you to deliver something if you weren't allowed to know what was inside..." Gilbert leaned across the table, poking the middle of Matthew's forehead with his index finger, the usual smirk stretched across his face.

Or, almost usual. A little more strained.

"What was it? Was it something that _he_ wanted you to deliver?"

"Nope." Gilbert leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest with a self-assured smile. "This delivery was one hundred percent my awesome idea. The kid doesn't know anything about it—and he never _will _know anything about it, either. If he did, he'd totally go ape-shit on my ass."

Matthew knew better than to question _why _he would be so angry. He and Gilbert had an unspoken agreement to never speak about Gil's boss or his past.

Just like they had an unspoken agreement to not talk about why Matthew wasn't attending the university with his brother.

"What _was _it, then?" Matthew took a sip of his coffee after asking the question, humming softly at the rich flavour.

"A gun."

And for a moment, Matthew thought that his heart had stopped. He lifted his head, staring at the other man with a horrified expression. "A _gun_?"

Gilbert nodded, head jerking away to stare out of the nearby window. Obviously not entirely comfortable with this turn in conversation.

As Matthew's mind raced. Why? Why would anyone need a gun in a university? They weren't going to use it _inside_ the school, were they? He hadn't just assisted in a school shooting? Especially not—

_No. No. Gilbert knows that Alfred attends that university. He'd never do anything that would put Alfred in danger. He wouldn't..._

_He wouldn't..._

"I've never told you my last name, Birdie." Matthew's panicked thoughts settled slightly at the words. And he lifted his head to gaze into a pair of blood-coloured eyes. Bright, intelligent, calculating blood-coloured eyes.

...But, they were eyes that still held warmth and affection and...what he knew was _love_.

_Gilbert wouldn't do anything to hurt me._

"It's Beilschmidt."

_He'd laughed, leaning over the back of the chair that Matthew was occupying, and pressed a pen into his hand, manually closing his fingers around the cylindrical object. 'Why don't you write the name on the envelope, Birdie... It's 'Ludwig Beilschmidt'. Yeah, B-E-I-L-S-C-H-M-I-D-T. It's German. Pretty crazy, right?'_

"Ludwig?" His voice was even softer than normal, shocked by this sudden new information.

While Gilbert seemed completely calm, self-possessed. "He's my younger brother."

_Younger brother._

_He hadn't known that Gilbert had family—and living so close. Attending the same school as Alfred..._

"Wh—why did you have me give your brother a gun?" Why hadn't he gone himself? Was he—did he not want his brother to know that he was living here? But then—why get in contact with him at all? And why a _gun_?

...

And Gilbert didn't answer him. Instead, he stood, pushing his chair in with an overly rough movement before walking toward the door. Matthew hurriedly followed, not entirely sure what Gilbert wanted him to do right now. The husband waved at them as they left—Matthew knew that Gilbert kept a tab there, since they visited so often.

"Gilbert? What's going on? No, I don't care... You don't need to tell me if you don't..."

It was raining now—more like pouring, actually. Matthew had been so preoccupied inside the shop that he hadn't even noticed. Now, he stood just inside the doorway and watched as Gilbert walked out from under the protective overhang, gazing up at the sky with a distracted expression for a few moments. And then he turned, sliding his hands into his pockets in the same motion. "It's fine, Birdie. But—it's safer for you if you don't know."

"Is—is something happening at the university? Is Alfred—"

"Your brother will be fine." And now Gilbert turned so he wasn't facing him anymore, and tilted his head slightly back. So that the rain now streamed down his face, beat against his closed eyelids, soaked his silvery hair.

_He was beautiful._

"We're being careful." He continued speaking, his voice sounding as if it were coming from a distance. "Right now, that university is probably the safest place in the city. It's just—precaution. Probably unnecessary precaution."

Matthew's eyes were fixated on the other man. He was barely aware of his own voice as he repeated. "Precaution?"

"For protection." Gilbert now lifted his head to stare at him, droplets caught in his hair and eyelashes, streaming down his cheeks. Matthew hesitated for another moment, and then took a timid step out into the downpour. Almost immediately drenched from head to toe...

Gilbert's eyes softened as he walked forward, reaching a hand out. Matthew immediately took it.

"Protection."

Gilbert nodded. "The city is becoming more dangerous." His eyes darkened for a moment and the grip holding Matthew tightened. "For all of us... It's only a matter of time before they find out..."

And his voice drifted away. And he now seemed to be talking solely to himself. Still holding Matthew's hand, but eyes focused on something in the distance, invisible to everyone but him.

"It's getting too difficult to know who to trust anymore... That's why I gave Ludwig that gun. Because, he may be one of the last men in this town that I know won't betray us when the time comes."

"Does he know—?" About who you are...? What you've been doing...?

"Nein." Gilbert shook his head. "Ludwig doesn't know anything. He probably thinks that I'm dead. I haven't seen him—" He now trailed off. Gaze flickering down the street for a moment, seemingly distracted by some internal thought... And then he shook his head slightly, beginning to lead Matthew away. "It doesn't matter."

Matthew just followed, knowing better than to question. Allowing his attention to be drawn to the puddles that were beginning to flood the street. The streetlights reflecting off the water...

Lying to brothers.

He and Gilbert had so much in common.

"And what about me?" He asked the question after a few minutes of silence, during which he allowed his thoughts to wander as he gazed ahead at the double rows of streetlights.

Felt the grip around his fingers tighten again.

"_I'll_ protect you."

A foolish promise, one that Matthew knew couldn't truly be kept...

He was putting his life in danger by associating with Gilbert. He knew that, of course. He knew that someday, someone would attempt to use him against the other man. And he would probably not escape with his life. You didn't fuck around with these sorts of criminals and expect to find any mercy.

He had known since the day that he and Gilbert had first met that he would eventually die for this man. No matter how fiercely Gilbert swore to the contrary. Since the first day, when Gilbert had stumbled into his apartment. Bleeding and cursing and desperately fighting invisible enemies until he had passed out on his carpet from blood loss.

Matthew had gazed at the man in horror for a long few minutes, too confused and shocked to react immediately. Particularly when the recognition came that he was currently gazing at one of the most dangerous, well-known criminals in the city. He'd hurried into the kitchen, grabbed the telephone from the wall... And then... He stood there. Terrified pants issuing from his lips as his fingers hovered over the nine and the one.

He hadn't called the police. Instead, he stood there for a few minutes and then walked into the other room. Dragged the man onto his couch, bathed and wrapped his wounds. From a knife, he later discovered. And had proceeded to nurse him back to health, keeping him hidden for almost an entire month...

During which they'd fallen in love. And during which, Gilbert had made the solemn promise that he would protect Matthew with his life.

And it was a promise that he clung to... Even though Mattie knew that you couldn't love someone like Gilbert and expect that everything was going to be all right. It was how things worked when you began to lean towards evil.

"We're going back to my apartment." Gilbert's words were somewhat harsh and wild, not allowing room for disagreement. Not that Matthew would disagree anyway. He nodded, squeezing Gilbert's hand lightly. Feeling a bit of tension leave the other body at the slight contact.

"Okay."

* * *

A/N: For whatever reason, I see Mattie being a very philosophical person. Which is why his thought process goes along that sort of 'good and evil' path. And arguing with himself... All that. I think it worked... Maybe. I'm kind of experimenting, since this story is a lot different than what I normally write. And it's kind of an experimental piece anyway...

(And from this point on, this is all just random non-story related stuff).

So today I watched the movie "Stranger than Fiction". Which if anyone hasn't seen it, is basically about a man who discovers that he's a character in this woman's novel and that he is destined to die in this story. It was pretty great. Although I'm terribly biased, since I'm a writer and it's totally something I've thought before... "What if everything I was writing was actually happening to a real person..." Although at least I don't kill my babies. Except in horror stories. But those people are usually unlikeable anyway, so...

The first scene with the writer, though... Has her standing on a table, eyes closed and imagining that she's on a building about to throw herself off to try to imagine how someone in that situation would feel... Seriously, I've done that EXACT thing... Once actually on top of a parking garage, while narrating my character's thoughts out loud. Yes... I'm a freak.

Mmm, and on the random note of writing... I've realized that one of the most horrible questions to be asked by someone (especially someone who at least wants to perceive themselves as a writer) is "Well, how would you describe your writing style?"

Seriously... Someone asked me that and I just stared at them for a few minutes like "What are you talking about?"

All I really know about my own writing style is that I tend to not use complete sentences... And my stories are more character-driven than plot-driven most of the time... (Which they totally conversed about in "Stranger than Fiction" and made me geek out to my roomie about the difference between the two.) But now I feel like I should try to figure out what the heck my writing style is... =.=;


	3. Chapter 3

**Behind the Veil**

**Part 3**

_They were holding him back..._

_Hands were holding him back as he screamed and flames crackled toward the sky. As smoke rose and choked the full moon. _

_And he kept screaming. Screeching and fighting, desperately trying to escape. To run and run and run toward the flames. The flames licking at the twisted metal... Twisted and broken and crumpled..._

"_Stop! It's too late!"_

_But he couldn't stop. He had to escape. Had to run; had to _save_ him. He couldn't just stand here, helpless. Always always helpless. _

"_No! No no no!"_

_Even though he knew. Knew that he was dead. He was _dead_. _

"_Fratello!"_

_And it was _his _fault. _His _fault! His..._

"Feliciano! Feliciano!"

And he was being shaken. Hard. As a voice—deep and commanding voice—called to him from somewhere nearby...

"Wake up! It's just a dream! Feliciano!"

_A dream. _

_A dream._

_Just a dream..._

It took a few moments for his eyes to flicker open. And he looked up to see Ludwig standing above him. His expression wild and worried. Blond hair—usually so tidy and regimented—falling messily over his wide, sky blue eyes. Feliciano normally would have giggled at the sight, but right now he was still confused, lost...

_Just a dream._

_But, it _wasn't_ just a dream. _

"Are you all right, Feliciano?" Ludwig was standing beside his bed, looking worried and unsure of what he should do. "You were screaming in your sleep..."

Feliciano didn't respond; instead he slowly sat up, blinking a few times as his eyes passed over the dark bedroom. Which almost seemed unfamiliar now. He shook his head slightly, trying to clear the last remnants of the dream out of his memory. The last visions of flames, the lingering smell of smoke... It'd been so real. So horrifyingly real.

_Just a dream. Just a dream. It's been two years since it happened... It's okay. It's over..._

"Do you want me to get you something?" And he now, for the first time, really noticed that Ludwig was hovering over his bed, nervously shifting his weight between his feet. Staring at Feliciano with uncharacteristic concern.

How many times had he wished that Ludwig would look at him like this? Entirely focused on him?

But not in this sort of situation. Not when his mind was still drowning in memories...

_He'd been getting better. He hadn't had a nightmare about that night in weeks..._

"Ve~ I'm fine, Ludwig." And he turned toward his friend, forcing his lips into one of his usual, bright smiles. Apparently succeeding in the action, as Ludwig visibly relaxed.

Feliciano's smile brightened into something almost real as he pulled himself into a more comfortable position. "Ve~ I must have had some bad pasta before I went to bed, sì?"

Except that that must not have been the right thing to say, as Ludwig suddenly frowned, staring at Feliciano with an unreadable expression. Causing Feli's smile to falter a bit.

Especially as Ludwig shifted his weight again, opened his mouth, closed it, and then finally spoke. "You were talking in your sleep too... I was trying not to listen, but I couldn't help but hear you."

And Feliciano felt his stomach sink a little at that remark. Although he kept the emotion from reaching his face; instead he forced another smile. "Ve~ that's funn—"

"You kept calling 'fratello'. Is that..." Ludwig hesitated again. "Is that someone's name?"

_Fratello..._

His face must have revealed _something_, as Ludwig now looked even more worried. "I'm sorry if that was too personal of a question..." he hurriedly rearked.

"No. It's fine..." He drew his knees up to his chin underneath the blankets, staring across the room at where his painting was resting on its easel. Covered with a tarp...

It was easier to concentrate on that than on the thoughts racing through his head.

_He didn't want to talk about it. He hated to talk about it. He wanted to just forget—forget about everything that had happened. Why couldn't he forget? _

_But, Ludwig was his friend. His best friend. His...well, Feliciano honestly wanted him to be _more _than a friend. He had for a long time. So, he shouldn't keep secrets... No matter how much he wanted to forget._

"Fratello... It means brother."

He lifted his eyes after a few seconds, a little surprised by Ludwig's lack of response. And was even more surprised when he saw how shocked Ludwig looked.

"...A bruder? You have a bruder?"

"Ve~" Feliciano's grip on his knees tightened as he continued staring at the easel. And then he sighed softly. "I did... But he died. Two years ago, in a car accident..."

_..."Fratello, I don't understa—"_

"_Of course you don't understand!" A pair of amber eyes had turned on him. Similar to his own, but a few shades darker and filled with such hatred and anger and...hurt. He'd frozen, one hand gripping onto the stair's railing. Staring at his brother... Unable to speak in the presence of so much bitter emotion. "You don't understand _anything_!"_

"_But—" His fingers clenched around the metal railing as he took a deep breath, trying to hold back the tears that were threatening to fall. "I want to, Lovi! I want to know what's wrong! What _happened_? Ever since nonno died..."_

"_Fuck nonno!"_

_He jerked back slightly, a few tears managing to break past his weak defences. "Lovi, please... Don't do this—"_

"_I'm going out and don't you dare follow me!"_

"A car accident?" And Feliciano was rather surprised when Ludwig suddenly reached over and pulled his chair out from his desk, turning it around so he could face Feliciano's bed... It sent a momentary jolt of excitement through his thoughts. Ludwigwas paying attention to _him_. Ludwig was worried about _him_.

But that excitement disappeared in a matter of moments. He shouldn't feel excited about Ludwig showing concern for him when it involved something like _this_...

_...It had been late. _

_Dark. _

_It'd been raining earlier. The roads were slippery and Lovino had been angry... He always drove faster when he was angry._

_He'd known. Something had warned him... He _knew_ that his brother wouldn't be coming back._

_But he still screamed when they came... When they came with Lovino's bloody, burnt jacket clutched in their hands..._

"Sì. Mio fratello—my brother... His name was Lovino..."

It felt strange to say his name after all these years. No one had said his name since the funeral. Mama...Papa... They had locked his room, refused to touch anything inside, and wouldn't allow anyone to talk about him.

"We had a fight. And he went out driving. He did that a lot when he got angry. It calmed him down. But it was late at night and the roads were slippery. And he lost control of his car..."

'_He didn't suffer... Killed on impact...'_

_They had tried to lie to him. They had stood in the doorway, unable to look him in the eyes as they told him stories. Trying to make the words hurt less._

_But he'd sat at the top of the stairs when they talked to his father. Listened to this new story—so different from what they had told him_ _and his mother._

'_High speed impact... Shattered the windshield, engine caught fire... He somehow managed to get out and crawl a few feet away before he died... Burned beyond recognition...'_

_...Lovino's screams had haunted his nightmares every night for the next year. _

"I'm sorry."

And Feliciano was brought out of his thoughts by the feel of someone touching his shoulder. A very gentle touch, attempting to comfort. He lifted his head, feeling that his cheeks were damp... Funny, he hadn't even realized that he was starting to cry...

Ludwig was staring at him, expression barely visible in the darkness. But he could see enough that he could recognize intense concern. Concern for _him_.

Was it wrong that he felt a twinge of happiness at seeing that expression of concern on Ludwig's usually passive face? It was just for a moment... And then he hurriedly brushed the tears aside and glanced back at the easel. "I miss him lots, but... Ve~ Lovi wouldn't want me to be sad, sì?"

"Uh..." Ludwig sounded rather unsure of himself. And now he rubbed at the back of his neck in an endearingly nervous motion. "Ja."

There were a few more moments of silence. Neither of them entirely sure what they should say.

Feliciano was just about to open his mouth to apologize for waking Ludwig up—after all; he knew that poor Ludwig had to get up early tomorrow morning. Since he had his first class at 7:45 and he always woke up at 5:30 so he had time to go work out, eat breakfast, and do whatever else he did in the morning.

Poor Ludwig would be _exhausted _in all his classes tomorrow. And Ludwig had been acting strange anyway—probably _because_ he was so tired—since he had returned from work last night.

First off, Ludwig had left to go take a shower while Antonio and Francis were here and he was working on the painting. That wasn't strange, since Ludwig liked taking showers right after he finished work. What was strange was the fact that he hadn't come back until almost _two hours_ after they left. Ludwig never took long showers like that.

Secondly, he'd returned with a big box. And refused to tell Feliciano what was inside. Instead, he'd turned almost ghostly white when Feli questioned him and then hurriedly changed the subject.

And thirdly, he had been _watching _him pretty much the entire night. Just short glances every so often... But it was enough to be noticeable. Even to Feliciano, who had often been accused of being pretty slow...

Anyway, that wasn't important. What was important was that he was about to apologize for keeping Ludwig awake. But he was suddenly interrupted as his bed dipped down.

He just responded by sitting there, staring at Ludwig with a mixture of surprise and confusion. As Ludwig shifted his weight nervously on the bed as if uncomfortable.

"Ve~ Ludwig?"

Feliciano was incredibly startled by the sudden action. As Ludwig had _never _done anything like this before. Since he seemed to have some sort of silly idea that Feliciano's side of the room was off-limits to him. He only ever came over here when he absolutely _had _to...

"Feli... I want to ask you something."

And he sounded _very _serious. The tone of voice immediately sent Feliciano's mind racing in panicked circles. Had he done something bad? He knew that he'd failed his last math exam, but Ludwig didn't know about that... And he had been trying _really _hard to keep his clothes on his side of the room—he wasn't always successful, but Ludwig didn't seem to mind picking up after him very much...

What if Ludwig had figured out that he liked him? What if he was about to tell him that he didn't like him back?

And Feliciano was suddenly aware of the familiar sensation of tears beginning to fill his eyes at that horrible thought. He'd been trying so hard to not let Ludwig know. Trying _so so hard_!

"F—Feli?" And now Ludwig sounded rather panicked. He reached forward; hand hovering awkwardly between them. Unsure where it should go in order to comfort the other male...

It just made Feliciano cry harder. Because Ludwig was so _nice _and he'd just ruined their friendship... He knew that Ludwig would want to switch roommates now. "Ve~ I'm sorry, Ludwig! I'm sorry! Don't leave, please? Per favore?"

And he launched himself at the other male, knocking him completely off balance in the process. So that Ludwig ended up lying back on the bed with a hysterical, weeping, _very naked_, Italian lying on top of him.

And Ludwig turned beet red as soon as he realized this. "Fe—Feliciano!"

"I'm sorry! I don't want a new roommate, Ludwig!"

Or... What if they didn't give him another roommate? That would be even worse...

Because he didn't want to be alone. He hated sleeping by himself...

Before Lovi died, he never had to sleep alone. If he had a nightmare or just felt lonely, he could always walk down the hallway and climb into bed with his brother. Lovino would usually grumble at him for a few minutes about how much of a baby he was when he did it. But then he'd wrap an arm around him and hold him close. And they'd fall asleep like that, snuggled against each other...

"I'm not leaving, Feliciano." And Ludwig's voice came more softly. Even as he attempted to push him off of him. Feli sat up, rubbing at his eyes with his fists in an attempt to erase the tears. "And you won't need a new roommate."

He hesitated now. For long enough that Feliciano looked up at him, wondering what, exactly, he wanted to say.

"Feli, this may sound... strange to you. But..." He frowned and then sighed. "Do you know of anyone who may want you dead?"

_Dead?_

_Why would anyone want me dead?_

"What?" The word seemed to come from far away. Overly calm. As he just stared at Ludwig with wide eyes. Desperately...

Why would Ludwig ask that? "Someone wants to kill me?"

Ludwig winced a tiny bit at his question. And looked like he really wished that he hadn't asked. "It's nothing, Feli... Nobody wants you dead. I just wondered if—"

_Someone wants to kill me?_

_Why?_

_Who?_

_Unless..._

_Unless Lovi had been right..._

_If Lovi was right ...But that still wouldn't explain why they'd want _him_ dead! It didn't have anything to do with _him_! He didn't know anything about anything! _

"Feliciano? Feliciano! Are you okay? Feliciano!"

'_It wasn't suicide, Feli!'_

_Lovino had always been the smarter one. _

_Lovino knew secrets... Secrets that he refused to share with Feliciano._

'_But, the policia said that it was...'_

'_The policia are idiots! I _know _that he didn't kill himself! Why would Nonno kill himself?'_

_He had wondered that. Often. Nonno wasn't the type of person who would do that. He never would have killed himself. But that's what everyone said had happened... He'd left a note. He'd held the gun. Shot himself in the head._

"Feliciano! Feliciano, I'm going to get the RA..."

_If Lovi was right..._

_If Lovi had known..._

_And then Lovi had died._

_If they had found out that Lovi had known. If they thought that Lovi _told_ him..._

_But Lovi had never told him anything. Lovino never told him anything. He didn't know _anything_..._

* * *

A/N: I feel like I just made a lot of enemies with this chapter... You'll see why I did it soon, though! Promise promise! I'll even try to get the next chappy up soon to make up for the whole...Lovi thing... *sniff sniff*

And Feli's personality is a little different than how I usually write him. Which is more just about alternate character interpretation than anything else... Since I can see him as either being really as happy as he appears in canon _or _as someone who uses that as a front and is really internally much deeper than you'd first think.

A sort of teeny-tiny hint towards why Feli may be in danger. Maybe. Or maybe not. You never know.


	4. Chapter 4

**Behind the Veil**

**Part 4**

He was warm. Warm, sated, and incredibly comfortable... And the _last _thing that he wanted to deal with right now was someone pounding on his apartment door like they were attempting to break it down or something.

Gilbert groaned in irritation, squeezing his eyes shut in a desperate attempt to slip back into dreamland. Maybe if he ignored them, they'd go away...

"Gilbert, I know that you're in there!"

Never mind. He recognized that voice. And he _would _probably break the door down (or at least damage it rather seriously) if he wasn't answered in the next few seconds.

Besides... Gilbert opened his eyes and smirked slightly as he looked over the body that was currently curled up against his. The blond head that was resting against his shoulder, pale—unless, of course, you compared it to _his_ skin—arm thrown over his chest. Their bare legs tangled together under the dark blue sheets.

...Besides, he didn't want that asshole to wake his Birdie up.

Which meant that he now had to disentangle himself from Matthew, pull on a pair of sweatpants that he found hanging half-out of the laundry basket, and trudge toward his apartment door to greet the grumpy bastard.

Wonderful start to a morning.

Which was only made _better_ when he opened his door and found Arthur Fucking Kirkland standing outside, arms crossed over his chest in the universal 'you are in so much fucking trouble right now' posture. An unfortunately-familiar black envelope held between two fingers, tapping irritably against his upper arm.

Ah, Gilbert could just tell that this was going to be a marvellous conversation.

"Where were you last night?"

And he now sighed, crossing his arms and ankles and leaning against the doorframe in the universal 'get lost, fucker' pose. Which he knew would tick his _associate _off... As revealed by the obvious twitch of one of his _massive _eyebrows. "And why would you need to know, _Artie_? You aren't _jealous_, are you?" He now smirked and blew the man a quick kiss. Which earned him a look that could have melted iron. "You know that my heart has already been stolen. By someone _much _cuter than you... Who happens to be an excellent cook... And has normal-sized eyebrows."

And he slammed the door shut on that last word. Just in time, as there was an almost-immediate loud _thunk _in response...

He tutted in response, slipping into his most-disappointed tone. "Now, Artie, you know that we've talked about putting knives through people's doors."

_Thunk._

Those were the two most easily-accessible daggers. Which meant that it was now safe to open the door and stare at the quivering knives. Tutting again. "Honestly, Artie, you really should get that temper under control."

And the envelope was starting to crumple in Arthur's grip... Although now he took a deep breath and let it out slowly. The action apparently calming him slightly.

"The Boss is furious..."

"What else is new?"

Another eyebrow twitch. Although he didn't turn homicidal again. Pity. "You were supposed to meet with him last night. He sent me out to look for you and find out why you didn't show. And where _were_ you? What was so utterly _important _that you couldn't meet with the Boss? You were out gallivanting with that _boy_..."

Gilbert knew that his own calm expression was beginning to slip. He'd better not fucking insult Matthew. Nobody insulted Mattie and got away with it. Not even Arthur. "The Kid doesn't fucking _own _me. I don't have to tell you guys about every move that I make. And that meeting wasn't even important."

"That doesn't matter. You were still supposed to attend..."

"_Why?_" He took a step forward, startling the other male into taking a step back. And for the first time, became really aware of the fact that they were standing in the hallway outside of his apartment. Most of his neighbours were probably still asleep, but they wouldn't be for long if they kept this up.

So he hurriedly turned, motioning for Arthur to follow him inside. Which he did after a moment of startled hesitation.

Gilbert waited until he'd passed, then shut and locked the door behind them, walking over to the couch in his living room/dining room. The apartment only had three distinct rooms, the larger living room/dining room divided from the kitchen by a change from carpet to tiled floor, the bedroom, and the bathroom—he could have easily afforded something bigger, but he kind of liked the apartment. It was small, comfortable, and relatively inconspicuous... And now he walked over to the couch and flopped onto the rather squishy cushions, motioning for Arthur to take the opposite loveseat.

Arthur frowned in response—when did he ever do anything else?—but then he obeyed the silent request, settling himself in an overly-formal manner on the seat.

Gilbert rolled his eyes in response and then continued with his tirade at a lower volume level. "And _why _would I be required to attend? The Kid sure as hell knows that those meetings are complete bullshit. I don't know why he even bothers agreeing to meet with him. Braginski wants to control the fucking city and his demands are just going to get more and more fucking outrageous until he's got the whole fucking thing under his thumb..."

"Because _most_ of us don't want this to turn into a full-fledged war." He glared at Gilbert with a look that plainly read that he didn't consider him to be one of '_us_.'

Gilbert didn't bother answering immediately. Instead, he walked into the kitchen and grabbed a beer can from the fridge. Not bothering to get one for his _guest_. He took his time, watching as Arthur's expression grew more and more irritated as he popped the tab and took a long swig.

And then he laughed.

Just let his head fall back and laughed, long and loud and obnoxiously. Before stomping back across the room and leaning forward so that his face was only inches from Arthur's—earning a rather surprised look in response.

"Oh, Artie." He leaned even closer, so their foreheads were touching. "Sweet, _naive_, Artie. Do you honestly think that giving in to Braginski's demands is going to make _any_ difference at all? It's just delaying the inevitable." He smirked. "We're going to end up going to war no matter what."

Arthur scowled again. Really, would it kill the man to show some variety in his facial expressions? "So you want to turn the city into a warzone?"

"If necessary." He now took a step back, taking another gulp of his precious nectar of the gods. "I'm taking precautions. That's why I wasn't at the meeting."

Eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Precautions?"

"Yep." He smirked in a sort of 'and that's all I'm going to tell you' fashion. And then yawned exaggeratedly, eyes roaming back toward the door that led to his bedroom. And to Matthew, who thank God was a heavy sleeper... "Is that all? Because I really want to get back to my awesome beauty sleep..."

"No, that's not all." Gilbert groaned as Arthur stood again, now holding the black envelope, which he'd been formerly using to tap out his frustrations, toward him. "I told you, the Boss is furious that you didn't come to the meeting with Braginski. And he said that you'd better show up at the warehouse tonight or..."

"Another shipment?" Gilbert really didn't care to hear what threat the Kid had come up with for today. He just wanted to go back to bed, curl up next to Mattie. Then he would wake up much later to a home-made pancake breakfast. ...He just needed to get rid of this asshole first.

Besides, he didn't need to listen to the threat anyway. He already knew that the Kid wouldn't follow through with it—everyone knew that Gilbert was much _much _too valuable to harm.

Arthur frowned, but didn't bother continuing with his original statement. "I would assume so."

"Then fine." Gilbert leaned forward, snatching the envelope out of Arthur's hand in a violent motion. "Now get out of my apartment before Birdie wakes up. Imagine if he had to see _these_..." he poked one of Arthur's eyebrows, "first thing in the morning. He would be traumatised forever."

It was a good thing that Arthur had forgotten to remove his knives from Gilbert's door before he came inside, as that remark probably would have earned him a skewering. And on that note, he should probably get those soon, before any of the neighbours decided to walk outside of their apartment for whatever reason and saw two daggers plunged into his door. Their response, while probably hilarious, would not be very conducive toward his ultimate goal of keeping his head low.

Arthur's fingers were twitching against his side, unsure of how to respond. He took another deep breath, let it out slowly. And then continued, in an overly calm voice. "Oh, and I almost forgot. I know that it's _very_ difficult for you to think with anything other than your dick most of the time. But next time that you bring someone home, you should really check to make sure that you aren't being tailed."

And Gilbert immediately felt his stomach drop at that... Panic switching on for a moment, before he hurriedly quenched it. No way was he going to let himself feel panicked. He wasn't scared of anyone. He was too awesome to be afraid of someone who was stupid enough to try to tail _him_...

He'd promised Matthew that he'd take care of him, after all. If anyone tried to tail him—if anyone attempted to go after Mattie to get to him, they'd be dead. He'd destroy their body and then send it out as a warning to anyone else who even _thought _about touching _his _Matthew. "Who?"

Arthur's lips twisted up into a self-satisfied smirk. Obviously pleased by his reaction. Meaning that he hadn't managed to quench the visible panic quickly enough. "Not one of Braginski's... Just that annoying little rookie. The one who hasn't quite figured out that the cops need to leave this kind of business to those who are better qualified to handle it."

Gilbert visibly relaxed at that. Ah, _her_... "You bump her off?" Hopefully not. He rather liked her...

Arthur crossed his legs and settled back into a more comfortable position. Sending clear signals that he wasn't planning on leaving anytime soon. Gilbert responded with an annoyed glare, which he proceeded to ignore. "No, it's not like she was going to find anything. Besides, she could prove useful later. She's smart, a lot smarter than most of the gits in that station..."

Gilbert smirked, about to open his mouth to respond...

"Gil?"

Before his attention was completely diverted by a soft, unsure voice. He immediately jerked his head toward the door to his bedroom, where Mattie was standing, dressed in a pair of his sweatpants and a sweatshirt, both of which hung appealing from his smaller frame.

"S—sorry. I didn't know that you were—" he started to stammer nervously, pushing up at the too-long sleeves in a nervous, unconscious movement.

"Nein, it's fine, Birdie." Gilbert jumped up, crossing the room in a few strides in order to stand beside his lover, wrapping a protective arm around his waist and pulling him close. "Artie was just leaving."

Arthur scowled. "Was I?"

"Yep." He waved the black envelope and then slid it into the waistband of his sweatpants. "And don't worry, Artie. I'll be _careful, _even if I don't really need to... After all, I've got my own personal little guard dog, right?"

Another glare and eyebrow twitch. Gilbert found it incredibly amusing to annoy the other male. Especially since he was apparently trying _not _to blow up at him.

"Be at the warehouse tonight." He stood, walking toward the door in a jerky motion. "The boss may not be as forgiving this time."

"Wouldn't miss it for the world."

Another eyebrow twitch. But this time, it was coupled with Arthur throwing the door open, stepping through, and then slamming it closed. And then in a matter of seconds: loud, infuriated cursing. As he realized that getting his daggers out of the door was going to prove to be a rather _difficult _task. After a few moments, Gilbert heard rather loud splintering.

His landlord was going to be furious. But at the moment, he didn't care.

As he had a cute Canadian standing right beside him, dressed in his over-sized clothing and rubbing sleepily at his eyes. Attempting to keep from yawning and failing in the most adorable way possible.

Gilbert knew that both Arthur and the Kid thought that his relationship with Matthew was a stupid mistake. The kid thought so, mainly because he thought the whole concept of love was retarded.

And Arthur was convinced that Gilbert was promising more than he could keep. How could he _guarantee_ Matthew's complete protection? After all, pretty much everyone in the city who spent any amount of time on the streets had heard descriptions of Gilbert, one of the most powerful and dangerous criminals in the entire city, and it wasn't like he was at all hard to identify. And if they discovered that he had a weakness...

He pushed that thought from his mind. Nobody was going to mess with him. And _definitely _no one was going to try to hurt Mattie. And if they tried, he'd kill them. No matter _who_ it was...

"All right, back to bed." And no more thinking about that. Instead, he began to usher his very exhausted lover back into the bedroom, using the arm around his waist to manoeuvre him around the furniture and toward the incredibly inviting bed...

"But..." Matthew's attempts at arguing were interrupted by another yawn, and then he squeaked in surprise as Gilbert sat down on the edge of the bed and then tugged him into his lap. "But, I should get up, Gil. I have work later..."

"Call in sick." The answer was immediate. And then he nuzzled his face against the back of Mattie's neck, breathing in his scent as soft, blond hair tickled against his nose. He grinned against his warm skin and then leaned back, pulling them both onto the bed. "Let's just stay in bed all day, Birdie. No worrying about work." He tucked his bare foot under the hem of Mattie's sweatpants and ran his toes along his ankle, smirking slightly at the shiver that he felt run through Mattie's entire body.

"I can't..." Mattie was attempting to free himself—unsuccessfully, as Gilbert wasn't about to let go of him. Although he did manage to turn himself around so that they were now facing each other. Which just earned him another smirk.

"Sure, you can. Tell them that you're too sick to come in. You caught the flu..." He slid one of his arms around Mattie's neck and tugged his lips down into a bruising kiss. Which he immediately reciprocated.

"Or," Gilbert continued, as they drew apart for a moment. Matthew was staring down at him, eyes hazy in what he could only describe as adoration... A look that he knew was probably shining straight back at him. He ran his fingers through Mattie's blond strands, humming for a moment in contentment. "Or, you could always just tell them that you quit and that you're instead going to live with your incredibly sexy and awesome boyfriend... And they can just keep their damn minimum wage job."

Probably not the perfect thing to say in that moment, as a look of exasperation now replaced the former loving look. Although at least Mattie didn't pull away; instead, he dropped his head onto Gilbert's chest and sighed heavily against his bare skin. Which sent an immediate thrill through his body.

"Gil, I've told you that I can't."

Gilbert frowned. "Why? Because you want to make your money the _legal _way? Why the fuck is that so _important_ to you? People keep fucking you over and over and over, so why the fuck would you feel like you owe them fucking _anyth—_?"

And he was startled when his words were suddenly cut off by the feel of soft lips brushing against his own. Hands pushing on his shoulders, pressing him against the bed... Surprised enough that he didn't say a word when the lips left. Instead he just stared silently up into Mattie's soft, violet eyes.

Watching as the other male sat upright, his fingers moving to caress Gilbert's cheek in a tender motion.

"It doesn't really matter why I want to do it. I've made up my mind and you've made up yours. And I love you, no matter what. So, I'm going to make breakfast, okay?" His voice was hard to catch, so soft that Gilbert had to strain his ears to hear him. "Pancakes. You have everything I need, right? Lots of maple syrup?"

For a moment, Gilbert didn't respond. Then he smiled and nodded. "Of course. Maple syrup is almost as awesome as us, so of course I'd have some."

"Good." And now Matthew slid off the bed, bare feet silent against the carpet. And then he leaned over and kissed him again, making a pleased sound in the back of his throat when Gilbert's arm slid around the back of his neck and held him in place for a few extra moments. Then he broke away, brushing a hand through Gilbert's silvery hair before turning and padding into the other room, closing the door behind him.

And leaving Gilbert alone.

To stare at the door now separating them...

_He could leave. _

_Damn it. He wanted to just leave. He wanted to take Mattie and get away from this damned city... _

_Just leave everything. Take enough money to start over. Buy a cabin in the middle of nowhere and just forget. Forget about everything. Forget about war and death and...everything._

_But he couldn't._

_Because he couldn't leave the kid. Couldn't leave him alone, not knowing who to trust, in the middle of a warzone._

_And he couldn't leave Ludwig. He had to watch out for Ludwig..._

_And the other one._

_The other one, who didn't even _realise _the danger that he was in._

And now he groaned and lay back against his pillow. And stared up at the ceiling. And began to count the cracks.

* * *

A/N: Writing Gilbert as more serious is _hard_...

I'm greatly enjoying writing this story. The interpretations of the characters in this one are so different than in my other ones... But I still feel like it's in character for them... If you consider the differences in background and current situation. And mental state.

Anyway, speaking of characters, I totally forgot to say this before. But here's my warning that there will be OC's in this. Some of their roles are decided, some aren't. If you hate OC's, that's my warning to you. My reasoning behind creating OC's is, as usual, either because A) none of the Hetalia characters will fit the role that I need them to play or B) the part isn't important enough that I want to waste a canon character on it.

So far, people have liked the OC's that I've created and I feel completely confident in my ability to weave OC's into this story in a way that'll be barely noticeable, so...no apologies for inflicting my imagination upon you. Mwahaha. xD

Oh, and if you happen to read my other stories, then you may recognise some of the OC's. Possibly. We'll see...


	5. Chapter 5

**Behind the Veil**

**Part 5**

"Alfred Jones is in the hiz-ouse!"

If there was one thing that Alfred Jones knew how to do like an expert, it was make a _grand_ entrance. The sort of entrance that would instantly gain the attention of everyone within hearing distance. Which currently consisted of the entirety of the police station where he was interning for the semester.

It wasn't like he had really had a choice in the matter, though. He _had _to burst in like that, kicking the door in and shouting. His hands had been full and he had to let everyone know that he was here. "And I've got doughnuts!" Since he had _doughnuts_. And he could just imagine that everyone would be devastated if they missed out on doughnuts.

Unfortunately, no one else seemed to appreciate his entrance _or _the consideration that had gone into buying them doughnuts. As he was mostly ignored; the few officers who _did _look over at him sent him immediate annoyed glares.

Alfred's shoulders drooped slightly for a moment at the disapproving stares. But just for a moment, before he hurriedly puffed his chest out and stalked inside. "I even got extra jelly ones this time!"

Everyone continued to ignore him.

And now he puffed his cheeks out in annoyance, slamming the box down on a nearby desk in annoyance, startling the officer who had been working there. Seriously, he'd gone out of his way to buy these guys a box of snacks and _no one _was going to say 'thank you'? This was the worst internship ever...

And it really _was... _Which sucked, since he'd thought that working in a police station would be _awesome_. He'd learn all about fighting crime and maybe even get to go out and be a hero... He'd often fantasised that maybe one day they wouldn't have enough men and he'd have to go out with them, rescue some hostages and stop a bank robber. Something like _that_.

Instead, he was usually stuck inside, filing paperwork or running meaningless errands for the officers—most of whom he expected were just too lazy to do their jobs themselves.

There were only two people in this entire office who would even _associate _with him outside of ordering him around. Neither of whom seemed to be around right now...

"Johnson! Kennedy!"

And apparently he wasn't the only one looking for them...

Alfred hurriedly pressed himself against the nearest wall as a figure—AKA: the chief, Mr. James J. Peterson—stomped toward him, pushing right past the officers like an angered bull. Only pausing when he'd reached a cubicle which was semi-separated from the others.

"Johnson, where the _fuck_ is Kennedy?"

Alfred winced slightly at the tone. The same one that the chief had used on Alfred when he'd forgotten to add sugar to his coffee. In a few minutes, he'd start screaming—and damn, that man sure had one set of lungs.

Then again, he was currently attempting to intimidate _Johnson_, who Alfred was pretty sure couldn't possibly be intimidated by _anything_...

He was _massive_, after all. Basically solid muscle—Alfred was well-known for being almost freakishly strong, but even _he _would never ever consider trying to fight this guy. He'd be able to throw him down without even exerting himself. And he'd do it without _any_ sort of visibleresponse. The guy was the most stoic person that Alfred had ever laid eyes on...

And now Alfred was creeping toward the cubicle, attempting to be as sneaky as possible. Since this sounded interesting... A lot more interesting than filing paperwork.

"Don't know..."

Johnson was also a man of few words, which Al knew pissed the chief off to no measure.

"Why the hell don't you _know_? She's your _fucking partner_..."

"Don't know."

Alfred winced at the sudden sound of a whole bunch of small objects—pens and pencils, probably—falling against the floor. The chief must have knocked them off his desk or something. Which meant that he was _really _pissed.

He had to press himself against the wall again when the chief stomped by him. Not even noticing his presence. Alfred jumped slightly at the sound of the door to his office _slamming_ closed. Hard enough that he wouldn't have been surprised if he heard it crack...

Wow... Somebody was in a nasty mood.

He stood there for another moment, making sure that the chief wasn't going to suddenly leave his room and murder him for being there—it sounded like it was something completely within the realm of possibility. And then he continued towards the cubicle.

Where he found Johnson. Just sitting at his desk, staring out of the window beside him with a blank expression. He didn't look at all phased by the fact that he'd just been screamed at by his boss. Or by the fact that his boss had _also_ knocked the cup holding his pens off of his desk and now they were spread out across the carpet.

Alfred frowned and glanced back toward the door to the office. Somebody should yell at _him_. Cops were supposed to be heroes. What kind of hero was that much of a jerk to his workers?

"Need something?"

He jumped slightly at the question; he'd started zoning out, like he often did when he started thinking about heroes and how to be heroic... Mattie always used to tease him, in his passive-aggressive way of teasing, telling him that he was _obsessed_... Which was completely untrue. Alfred just thought that being a hero was a very _very _important thing... Something that you should think about. And most teenage boys had posters of Superman and Batman and all of those other heroes plastered on their walls. It was totally normal.

And he suddenly came to the realisation that he hadn't answered Johnson's question. So he hurriedly remedied that by dropping down, grabbing all of the pens that he could reach. Then he stood, placing the mug—which was currently lying on its side on the desk—upright and dropping the pens inside. "Neh, I just heard the chief givin' you a hard time and wanted to come and help out!" Like a _real _hero.

Johnson blinked once. Then inclined his head slightly in what Alfred assumed was a nod. Before he turned his head back toward the window again.

...Alfred had never been able to understand how Johnson could stand being so quiet all the time. Seriously, the guy hardly ever said more than two words at a time to _anyone_. Not even his partner.

Speaking of whom...

"So," he leaned the back of his legs against the desk, attempting to act completely nonchalant. Definitely succeeded if you asked him, too. "Lia isn't here?"

Which was definitely weird. Lia wasn't the type of person who would take a day off without calling ahead—hell, she wasn't the type of person who would take a day off period. Unless she were actually dying. And even then, she'd probably have to be _forced _to stay away.

Alfred was well-aware of that fact and he didn't even _know_ her all that well... He liked talking to her, since she was pretty much the only person around here who would treat him like an equal—besides Johnson in his own way, but she was pretty busy most of the time...

Johnson's expression changed slightly at his question. As he looked—almost uncomfortable. Or worried? Alfred had never really been all that great at reading people—that had always been Mattie's forte—and this guy was basically impossible to converse with unless you were an expert at reading incredibly subtle facial expressions.

"No."

"That's weird. Did she say why?" Definitely uncomfortable. He reached toward the desk and picked up one of the pens, then just held it in his hand. Not doing anything with it...

"No."

...That was even weirder. The two of them were practically joined at the hip, after all. It was incredibly rare for Alfred to see them apart when they were at work. And when they _were _apart, they were always aware of where the other one was.

"She really didn't tell you anything? That's weird..." He now sat down on the edge of his desk, pushing the mug of pens out of the way to make his seat more comfortable. "Maybe she overslept..."

Johnson shook his head about an inch to either side. "No."

"Well, maybe she—"

"Chief said not to follow them..."

...Holy crap. Alfred stared at the man in amazement. Dude, that had been more than two words. Not very helpful words, since he had no idea what he was talking about, but words nonetheless. "Them?"

"The gangs." Alfred now noticed that he was squeezing the pen. Probably harder than he should. Like it was probably going to explode in a few minutes.

And then his words sunk in. Wait, gangs?

He'd definitely heard of the gangs—they'd run the city for generations, after all. Crime sprees, evil deeds, that sort of thing... He assumed; he wasn't an expert on the subject or anything. He had always thought that they were all gone by this point, though. He'd never heard anyone at the station talking about them, at least...

"Wait, so Lia went after _gang_ members? Alone?"

All he could think were like...gangsters like from the _Godfather_. Machine guns and fedoras and...

Dude, _Lia _had decided to go after _those _kinds of people on her own? Sure, she was definitely able to handle herself in most situations. She'd let Alfred come to the shooting range with her one evening, when she didn't have anything else that needed to be completed immediately, and he'd gotten to see first-hand just how good she was with a gun...

And then he'd proceeded to completely miss the target on every shot.

...And he infinitely preferred to not think about that day. Lia had proceeded to burst into giggles every time she laid eyes on him for almost a week afterwards.

Anyway. There was no way that Lia wouldhave been crazy enough to go after those guys on her own...

Johnson's grip on the pen wasn't relaxing, however. Instead, he looked even more uncomfortable and worried. Gaze sliding back to the window...

"Dude, we should go out and find her and make sure that she's okay!" Images were already flashing through his mind. What if she'd followed the gang members to their secret lair—like in a warehouse or something—and was currently hiding behind a stack of boxes, about to be discovered by a giant guy with a baseball bat? Or maybe she was in a gun fight, bleeding and desperate for a hero...

"Are you having another craving, Johnson? I told you that it's easier to use patches than trying to do it cold turkey."

Or maybe she had just popped up behind them like a freaking _ninja_ and was now attempting to send Alfred to an early grave.

He had jumped about a foot in the air at the sudden words coming from _right behind him_. Managing to re-knock the mug of pens over in the process, sending them scattering across the floor...

"Oh, sorry, Al. I didn't mean to startle you." And he turned his head to see the woman standing behind him, looking rather surprised by his reaction.

She looked tired; that was the first thing that he noticed. Her eyes—which were almost the same colour as his own, only a couple shades lighter—were outlined by dark bags. Hinting that she hadn't slept much, if at all, last night. Her hair, which she usually wore up in a neat braid or bun while at work, had just been pulled back in a messy ponytail. A few long blonde curls had managed to escape and now hung around her face, which was much paler than looked healthy. Plus her clothes looked rumpled, almost like she'd slept in them.

"Hey, you feeling okay?" he immediately questioned, not allowing her time to answer before continuing with... "Where were you? The chief almost burst a gasket over here when he found out that Johnson didn't know where you were."

She immediately frowned, brushing a clump of hair behind her ear before her gaze flashed over to Johnson. Looking almost apologetic for a moment before she continued, "I—honestly don't really care if he's upset with me. I _finally _found something out about the albino..."

Albino?

"Albino? What about an albino?" Alfred settled himself more comfortably on the edge of the desk, pushing the now-empty mug over toward the centre of the workspace. This was _so _much more interesting than filing paperwork and crap like that. _This _was closer to the sort of heroics that he'd imagined. Was the albino an evil criminal mastermind who was trying to take over the world?

"He's one of the leaders in one of the gangs..." she started after a moment. "Or at least, that's what I think." She grabbed a chair from one of the nearby empty desks and settled herself in front of the two men. "At the very least, he's involved with them. I don't know his name or anything—people are extremely close-lipped about everything involving the gangs—but I know some of the places where he spends his time. And last night..." Her voice now rose to a more excited tone. "I managed to tail him all the way back to his apartment. _And _I saw him with someone else... Didn't get a good look at who he was with, but I'm pretty sure it was a girlfriend. Since they were making out on the front step for a while..."

...Slightly awkward thing to hear. Since when did gangsters make out with chicks on the front step of their apartment? Kind of ruined the big scary guy image a little, didn't it?

Still. "So are you going to arrest him?" Maybe he could come along when they did. Imagine _that_. Being present when they arrested one of the _leaders_ of one of the terrible criminal _gangs_ in the city. Something like _that _could instantly turn this whole situation into one of the most awesome internships _ever_.

But now she frowned, eyes immediately passing over him to settle on Johnson. "No." And she sounded rather ticked off now. "The _chief_ has refused to even _investigate _this guy. He says that there aren't any gangs left and that I shouldn't try to stir up a panic by insisting that there are..."

"Why?" He wasn't whining, even if his awesome fantasy was currently being crushed into the ground. "Do you not have any proof?"

"I could _get _proof if he'd just let me _try_!" She was scowling now, glaring at the chief's door. "He refuses to let me do _anything_... He's going to be furious when he finds out that I decided to stakeout this guy's apartment..."

"You went alone." And Alfred had almost forgotten that Johnson was here. He'd been completely silent since Lia had shown up, after all. But now he sounded...not exactly irritated, since Johnson seemed unable to show anger. But his tone seemed a tad sharper than before.

And people said that he couldn't read the atmosphere. If nothing else, this internship was definitely teaching him how to do that.

Lia seemed to immediately understand the tone, as she turned his head toward Johnson and frowned. "I _had _to go alone. You know that the chief is already _this _close to firing me. I don't want _you _to get into trouble too. Besides, the albino isn't the one who usually hurts people."

Johnson's facial expression must have said something—although Alfred couldn't _see_ any change—because Lia now sighed and crossed her arms over her chest in an exasperated posture. "I was careful, don't worry. He definitely didn't see me; he was _way_ too distracted by whoever he was with to notice me. I even picked a pretty wretched vantage point to make _sure _that no one noticed me."

Maybe they were telepathic. That would be _awesome_...

"Kennedy!"

And cue heart attack number two.

Lia almost fell right out of her chair at that sudden shout coming from the formerly-closed chief's door. But managed to catch herself and then pulled herself to her feet in a sort-of graceful motion. "Yes, sir?"

"Where have you been?" He stomped out of the office, right toward them. Everyone else was ignoring them, which Alfred found rather weird. Then again, the other officers didn't seem to like Lia or Johnson much more than they liked him.

He hurriedly slid off the desk and moved to the other side, away from the rampaging man. Not because he was being a coward—after all, a hero was ready to face _anything_! But...he knew that it would be best not to piss this guy off if he didn't have to.

Lia tensed slightly at the question, expression hesitant. Before she took a deep breath and began to recite, "I wasn't feeling very well this morning and decided to take the day off. But I felt better and decided that it would be okay to come in anyway."

...She was almost as bad at lying as Mattie.

And the chief definitely didn't look like he believed her. Definitely not, as instead, his expression grew much more irritated. And he glared at her like she was a piece of dust or a flea or something disgusting and insignificant like that. "You went after your 'albino' again?"

Which her response was to immediately tense up as her cheeks began to darken in what looked like a combination of embarrassment and anger. "He isn't _my _albino. He's involved in an organisation that is threatening the safety of our city and we should be investigating..."

Alfred saw it coming. Didn't have enough time to react, though... As the chief suddenly drew his palm back and then threw it forward...

And she immediately closed her eyes, tensing in preparation for the blow.

Which didn't come...

Alfred honestly had never seen someone move that fast before. Especially someone as big as Johnson... As the man had managed to throw his chair back, stand up, _and _grab the chief's wrist in what looked like a _very _painful grip before he managed to touch her.

Alfred could have sworn that every single person in the room suddenly stopped breathing. All of the other cops were _finally _paying attention, staring at Johnson with various shocked expressions.

And Johnson was still staring at the chief with a completely blank expression. He didn't even look angry. Although, from the pained look that was beginning to cross the other man's eyes, he guessed that the strength of Johnson's grip was probably making his feelings perfectly clear.

"J—Johnson... Get your hands off of me!" The chief exclaimed, taking a step backwards in an attempt to break free. Which did absolutely nothing. "I swear—"

"Wait, Johnson," and suddenly Lia took a step forward, grabbing onto her partner's arm in an attempt to gain his attention. Which was actually successful, as he glanced down at her immediately. "Let's just go. We can talk in the car."

Johnson didn't immediately respond. And Alfred wondered what he was supposed to do if a fight broke out in here. He supposed that he should technically help _the chief_, since he was currently his boss. But he'd just tried to hit a girl. And heroes _never ever _hurt women.

Even if said woman happened to be a ridiculously good shot.

...There were a few more moments of tension. As the two men continued to stare each other down. And then, Johnson finally released his arm and turned, heading toward the front door without another word. Lia immediately following.

Thank God. Alfred relaxed slightly.

Until the chief turned toward him, rubbing at his wrist, which actually looked slightly bruised. Eyes flashing murderously. "What the fuck are _you_ looking at, kid? Get to work!"

And then he stomped off toward his office, slamming the door for the second time today.

...Seriously, Alfred was starting to really wish that he'd decided to work at McDonald's...

But a hero never gave up. No matter how tough things got.

Which meant that it was time to start with his usual daily tasks... Joy.

* * *

A/N: Lots of writing done today! Huzzah! ;D Haha. My eyeballs are about to fall out.

And my roomie is currently making me coffee... Hearts for my roomie :)

So, lots of OC's introduced. Including Lia and Johnson. Who, if you've read the Pleasantville-verse, you may recognise. Sort of...

Although the tricky Authoress is tricky ;D Haha. Since _nobody_ ever said that I couldn't gen!flip my own OC... xD

This chief is not the same as the Pleasantville chief though. Since this chief is a jerkface.


	6. Chapter 6

**Behind the Veil**

**Part 6**

"And make sure that all of those boxes are stacked before you leave. We need to make sure that there's room for the shipment that's coming in tomorrow morning." Mr. Emerson peered over his clipboard, settling a harsh glare on the student currently standing in front of him. As if not entirely sure whether he could actually be trusted with this task.

To which Antonio just responded with his usual bright smile and what he hoped looked like a confident nod. "Don't worry, Mr. Emerson! I'll make sure that I finish!"

"You may have to work late." The man dropped the clipboard to his side, tapping it against his leg in a distracted fashion. "Don't leave until you've finished. Mr. Trovato is on duty tonight, so you can check out with him when you're ready to leave..." Another vaguely suspicious glare. "Understand?"

"Sí!" Antonio nodded, now trying to look as reassuring as possible. Which was a little bit hard to do, since he was really tired right now... But he didn't want Mr. Emerson to yell at him about being lazy again...

But really, he didn't want to stay here and work. He wanted to go back to his room and go to sleep.

But he managed to keep his smile, even as Mr. Emerson scowled at him, still not looking convinced. And then stood there for a few more minutes before he finally nodded and walked out of the warehouse. Leaving Antonio all alone in the dimly lit building... Listen for the sound of a motor and then the crunch of tires on asphalt.

Which meant that he was gone and Antonio could now relax for a little bit. Let the exhaustion overwhelm him as he turned to look over his task for tonight. His emerald green eyes dulling slightly as they settled on the piles and piles of boxes in front of him.

Rows and rows and rows of boxes, all of which needed to be sorted and moved, which was most _definitely_ not a job for one lone worker. Francis had told Antonio that he should complain about Mr. Emerson's treatment of him—making him work long hours, backbreaking work, paying absolute minimum wage, sometimes cutting his breaks short, leaving him here all alone at night...

But, Antonio didn't want to cause any trouble. And well, this was the only job that he'd been able to find... And he really needed the money.

Since attending college wasn't cheap, especially when it was a _good _college. Antonio had been amazed that he'd even managed to make it in; he wasn't going to blow this opportunity just because he was worked a little harder than was entirely fair.

Besides, he'd be able to do it. He was a very hard worker after all. And his professor didn't take attendance in his first class tomorrow morning, so he could always skip...

He just wished that he had someone to _talk _to at least. Working all alone, especially in a dark, creepy warehouse like this one wasn't any fun. He supposed that if he got too lonely, he could always go in search of Mr. Trovato or the security officer—whoever was on duty tonight. He'd talked with Mr. Trovato once or twice before and he seemed rather nice, and most of the security guards were really friendly—and they were usually bored while on their shifts too, so they'd often stop and talk with him for a while. Sometimes even help him out a little bit.

For now though... He stared at the boxes, biting on his bottom lip as he thought. His body was aching just at the thought of how much work he was going to have to do. And he was absolutely exhausted...

He was going to have to stay late _anyway_, so... It couldn't hurt to take a _short _little break. Just to rest his eyes? There was a giant pile of cardboard behind one of the stacks of boxes... He could just rest there for a bit. Then he'd be able to work even faster and better...

...Just close his eyes. He wouldn't even let himself actually fall asleep.

And the Spanish student immediately nodded to himself, pleased with the thought. Heading toward the pile of cardboard, out of sight of anyone who might come in and see that he wasn't working. Just for a few minutes. No longer than ten.

~.~.~

"Careful with the fucking boxes, fucking bastards! And hurry up, we don't have all night!"

"You know... if you _really _want to speed this up, then why don't you fuckin' _help_?"

"Fuck off."

"Scheiße! That was my foot!"

"Well, maybe your goddamned foot shouldn't have been in my way!"

...It had definitely been more than ten minutes.

That was Antonio's first conscious thought as he slowly began to awaken from what was supposed to be a 'resting of his eyes'. He'd definitely fallen asleep for more than ten minutes. As it was _much _darker in the warehouse than it had been before and he actually felt well-rested...

And he was hearing voices.

Those definitely hadn't been speaking before.

"Where's Trovato?" Which weren't even attempting to be quiet. "He was supposed to take care of the watchman."

"Psh, Alcide? He's probably long gone by now. You know how he works... Never actually helps with the heavy lifting."

Wait... And Antonio suddenly jerked to full wakefulness at those words. His entirely body jolting up into a seated position, eyes widening as the former words finally managed to sink into his brain. _'Take care of the watchman?' _

Wait a minute. What was going on? Who were these people? Mr. Emerson hadn't mentioned that anyone else would be showing up tonight... Not 'til tomorrow morning, right?

Antonio suddenly felt his stomach begin to twist with panic. He wasn't entirely sure _why _he was panicking—he just knew that he was starting to feel nervous.

People were here, in this warehouse, late at night. They were talking about _hurrying up_ and _taking care of _the security guard. People who weren't supposed to be here.

Criminals.

They had to be criminals. Stealing something... Although _what_? He wasn't aware that there was anything particularly interesting in these boxes.

They were talking about _taking care _of the security guard.

_Taking care... _

Killed... They'd killed him. Whoever was here had killed the security guard. And would probably 'take care' of _him _if they found out that he was here. Listening...

Listening to... And now his panicked brain managed to run through what the man—his accent had sounded German; he should make a note of that—had just stated.

_Mr. Trovato. He'd said something about Mr. Trovato taking care of the security guard. So...Mr. Trovato was involved? But..._

Antonio crouched lower on the pile of cardboard, trying to make his body as small as possible, barely daring to breathe as he slowly reached into his pocket and removed his cell phone. Thank God he had to keep it on silent while he was working. If it had rung...

_Four missed calls. Five new text messages._

All from Francis. He stared at the clock, feeling even more panicky as the numbers stared right back at him. _12:36._

He'd been asleep for almost 5 hours...

"Verdammt!" And he jumped at that, heart pounding in his chest at an unhealthy speed. "If you step on my foot one more time, _Artie_, I'm going to..."

"You're going to _what_?" Challenging tone. British accent.

German and British accents. And the British one was apparently named Artie. He had to remember—try to remember. There had been one other voice, although his brain had been too muddied to remember anything. Other than the fact that it had been accented as well.

He had to get out of here. If he somehow managed to get out of earshot of these men, he could call the police... He'd call the police and they'd come.

"And _there_ you are!" He was jerked out of his frenzied planning by another exclamation by the British man. Young man, probably? It was kind of hard to tell by his voice. If only he could see—then he could identify them later by appearance. "Took you long enough, bloody frog... Where the hell have you been?"

_Frog?_

And then Antonio's heart almost stopped. As the next words came. In a very _very _familiar voice.

One that he heard everyday... Heard when he woke up every morning—he had always had difficulties waking up to an actual alarm, so his roommate had taken it upon himself to make sure that Antonio was up and ready for class every morning. The voice that he heard every night, right before he fell asleep. Reading out loud in that softly, lulling voice...

Now not soft or lulling or anything. Now _harsh_. "Now, now, cher. Don't get your panties in a twist..."

"You were supposed to be here over an hour ago, _frog_..." The British man's voice was also harsh, although more so.

"I was delayed, unfortunately... My roommate hasn't returned to the dorm yet. I was waiting up for him."

_Francis._

Why was Francis here?

Francis was supposed to be in their dorm room, working on his history project. The one that was due next week on French resistance during the German occupation during World War II. That's what he'd told Antonio he was going to be doing. Antonio had left him like that, seated on his bed with his blond hair pulled back into a loose ponytail, chewing on the end of his pen while glaring down at his textbook. The usual pose when he was deep in thought—although he'd spared enough time to look up and smile at Antonio as he was leaving, wishing him a good day at work.

Why would _Francis _be here? _What was going on?_

"The Spanish kid?" And the German spoke again, his tone suddenly changing. Becoming harsher? No, not really. More interested, maybe. "Didn't you say that he worked _here_?"

And now Antonio felt his entire body grow cold. Instantly.

"Oui." Francis sounded nervous. Francis _never _sounded nervous. "But he's never here this late. Even when Mr. Emerson makes him work overtime, he's always out before 9:30..."

And that was the last thing that Antonio heard.

As he suddenly felt the ground sliding out from beneath him. The cardboard pile suddenly collapsing... And he was sliding and crashing with it.

"What the _fuck_—?"

And he finally came to a stop after what felt like hours of sliding and falling. His head smacking hard against the cement floor... And it took a moment for his vision to clear. And his thoughts to catch up to what had just happened.

Which was a moment too long. As he now lifted his head and found himself staring up into a pair of blood-red eyes set against pale, almost white skin. Looking rather surprised...

Black gloves on his hands that merged seamlessly into the black gun trained unwaveringly on his body.

...He was going to die.

He was going to die. He had no idea what was going on. He just knew that he was going to die.

Except...

Antonio honestly had no idea what came over him in the next moment. As he didn't have time to think. Didn't have time to think or plan or do anything...

He just knew that within a matter of seconds, he had managed to crawl backwards, flip over onto his hands and knees and then stumble to his feet. And then he was running. Running...

No bullets whizzing past his ears. As he'd apparently taken the other man by surprise.

Offices. He was running farther into the building, darting down the hallways. Running toward the offices. Mr. Emerson's, Mr. Trovato's... If he made it to one of the offices, he could lock himself inside. He could call the police. He'd dropped his cell phone, so he'd have to use a landline.

As long as they hadn't cut the wires. Cut the wires or whatever else it was that criminals did.

He was running faster than he'd ever run in his life. Just barely aware of the sounds of shouts and curses from behind.

He just had to find somewhere to hide. Somewhere with a phone. He could call the police. Call _someone_...

_Why was Francis here? What was going on?_

"Antoine! Antoine, stop!"

And Antonio knew that he had never been more terrified in his life. He just ran, ignoring the burning that was beginning to shoot up his side. He'd never run like this before—he'd always hated running. But if he slowed down, they'd kill him. Kill him just like they killed the security guard...

_Francis was involved. Francis was involved with murderers. Criminals._

He was choking. Choking on the oxygen that was desperately attempting to force its way into his lungs. And choking on the sobs that were trying to burst from his body.

_What was going on?_

And now his mind was bringing new images to mind. What if Mr. Trovato was still around? What if he was hiding somewhere, just waiting to jump out and kill him? He'd surely heard him, heard the shouts of the others. A mixture of languages...

He couldn't stop now, though. He had to find somewhere safe to hide. He had to call the _police_. He could lock the door. At least _try _to find somewhere safe. It would take time to break the door down and if he could just make sure that the _police _were coming...

And Antonio turned, for once thankful for the late late nights. He'd easily memorized the layout of this building, knew exactly how to get to Mr. Emerson's office. Didn't even need to think. He just raced down another hallway. And now he could see Mr. Emerson's office door down at the other end. Just a little farther.

But, he was so fixated on the door that he didn't notice the dark figure spread across the hallway. So that he suddenly stumbled, tripping heavily over the object and falling violently onto his hands and knees. Scraping his skin harshly against the cement floor, ripping his jeans at the knees, tearing through skin so that blood immediately began to seep through...

For a moment frozen. And then he turned his head.

And stared at the shape. At the body. Lying spread across the hallway.

Still. Unmoving. Unresponsive.

The man lying on his stomach. Dressed in his uniform.

And Antonio screamed, too terrified to care that now they'd now know exactly where he was. He jerked back to his feet, ignoring the pain as he stared at the body in horror. Stared and...

"Antoine!"

And _Francis_ was now standing at the end of the hallway.

Francis. His roommate. Standing there, body almost folded in half as he gasped desperately for air. Antonio had desperately been praying that he was wrong; that the voice didn't belong to Francis. Not to his best friend...

But it was him, holding himself up with a hand against the wall. His hair had almost entirely escaped from its tie; his clothes were rumpled... He was standing there, the complete opposite of the usual Francis.

_He wasn't... The usual Francis would be sitting in the campus centre right now, flirting with a handful of girls...or guys. Depending on his mood. Or the usual Francis would be in their dorm room, sitting on his bed and biting on the end of his pen as he puzzled over a history project or a worksheet filled with math problems._

_Dios... What was Francis doing here; what was going on?_

"An—Antoine..." Another gasp. Francis shook his head, displacing more of his hair, clumps messily falling in front of his face. "Antoine, this isn't what you think..."

Wasn't what he— And there was a moment of hope. They weren't... Maybe they weren't criminals. Maybe he'd been wrong.

But why would they be here? And why would there be a corpse lying at his feet? And that man—with red eyes. He'd had a gun.

And—and—

And his thoughts sudden froze for a moment. As he remembered. That he'd heard rumours. Rumours. Some of the other men in the warehouse would talk about some of the stories... Street stories from mouth to mouth.

An albino.

_The_ albino. One of the most powerful members—maybe the leader? No one seemed to know for sure—of one of the most powerful gangs in the city. Untouchable. No one would dare go after him. Not even the police.

And he was trembling, his legs threatening to give out on him. Threatening to send him falling right back onto his torn and bloody knees.

_Was that was this was?_

A gang...

_Francis was in a gang._

"Antoine. Antoine!"

And then they _did _give out on him. But he didn't hit the floor. As he suddenly felt something move under his shoulder, holding him up. Staggering a little bit under his weight. A hand sliding around his waist to give him more stability.

"Antoine, it's okay. You're okay... Just breathe... He isn't dead. It's okay."

Who wasn't dead? The guard?

"_Francis_!" And another voice. This one unfamiliar. Maybe. Or maybe it was familiar. He wasn't sure right now... "Francis, what the _fuck _is going on?"

Antonio hadn't been aware of the fact that he'd closed his eyes until he suddenly found himself needing to open them. An odd sensation. For a few moments, he was unable to figure out how to do so. And when he did, it took quite a few moments to focus on the new shape standing in front of them.

A person. That was easy enough to identify. A man... Sort of familiar person. Maybe.

Amber-coloured eyes were narrowed at him. Glaring. That wasn't familiar... But then the hair. It was darker auburn with a curl... He knew that curl. Except, it was in the wrong spot...

And something...something was tugging at something.

He knew who this was, right?

"F—Feli?"

And that was the last thing that Antonio thought. Before the world suddenly grew dark and the voices began to fade...

* * *

A/N: Holy snap. That was... Insane. I just—yeah...

Not even gonna try to explain anything. Except to say that another OC from another of my stories made his appearance. xD Although I'd be surprised if anyone recognised him, since he only made an appearance once...waaaaaaaay back in chapter 11 of Changement.

Although if you _did _happen to recognise him, then you got a massive massive hint to the identity of the kid. Who a few of you had guessed at already... Good job. Good job.

Nobody guessed about Franny, though. Which is good. Since I don't want people to be able to guess at ALL of my plot twists. That'd just not be any fun.

Ummm, oh, and I found your responses to the last chapter to be incredibly amusing. I totally didn't expect that so many people would be excited about Lia and Johnson. Seriously... xD That's pretty awesome. Since they're fun and I love them.


	7. Chapter 7

**Behind the Veil**

**Part 7**

He was going to die.

Antonio could honestly say that he'd never thought much about dying before now.

He supposed that the idea had crossed his mind once or twice at funerals—that someday _he _was going to be the one laying in a casket with people gathered around and saying overly-nice things about him. It was a thought that was probably passing through many of the mourners' minds after all. Outside of that, though, he'd never really considered _how _his death might come about.

That all had changed in one evening. Because—he knew that there was no way that he was making it out of this.

He'd woken up maybe five-ten minutes ago... Disoriented, unsure of where he was, why it was so dark, why the floor kept moving and bouncing. It'd only taken him a few seconds to remember, though. The criminals...Francis... He was in a vehicle; he could hear the engine. And it felt like they were travelling on a rather poorly-kept road. So they'd probably left the city.

Which meant that he'd probably been unconscious for a while. If they'd had time to carry him out to this vehicle and then drive out of the city.

So he'd then attempted to sit up... And soon realised that he couldn't Because his wrists and ankles had both been bound—with tape from the feel of it. And another piece of tape had been pressed over his mouth, keeping him from shouting for help. Although he seriously doubted that anyone would be able to hear him anyway, outside of whoever these criminals were.

He was scared.

He was really _really _scared.

He could vaguely see the outline of square-like shapes surrounding him. The boxes from the warehouse, maybe? And from behind them, muffled voices. Voices which he could just barely make out if he strained his ears...

"This is _your_ bloody fault!" the criminal with the British accent was currently fighting to keep his voice low... Not succeeding, as the fury kept leaking through, forcing his voice louder and louder.

"_My_ fault?" And that was the German. The one with the red eyes and white hair. The one who looked like some sort of _diablo._ His voice rose as well, earning a hiss of irritation from someone else. Which he completely ignored. "How the hell is any of this _my _fault?"

"You were the one who was supposed to make sure that the bloody building was empty!"

"Oh, come _on. _Trovato _said_ that everybody was gone." Now his voice lowered slightly, but still loud enough that Antonio could easily hear him. "You think I was about to go digging through all of those fucking piles when hetold us that nobody was there?"

"And look where your laziness got us, git! Now we have to figure out what to do with _him_!"

"Shut the fuck up!" Antonio jumped slightly at that interruption. "Both of you!" He vaguely recognised that voice. It had belonged to... He remembered that he'd seen Feli. But, it wasn't Feli's voice. It was harsher, a little deeper... Same accent, but definitely not the same voice.

Someone who looked like Feli? They'd looked so similar though, almost like twins.

"Why must we do _anything_ to him?" And that voice and tone were both instantly recognisable to Antonio. Francis... Francis speaking with the silky smooth tone that he often used when he was attempting to charm someone into doing something for him—a teacher into extending a due date, a girl into climbing into his bed...

And he somehow knew that Francis was attempting to charm these criminals. Convince them to not kill _him_. "After all, he is harmless, oui? He is just my roommate..."

"He fucking called me _Feliciano_!" And the Feli-look alike screamed that. Causing Antonio to flinch again.

He had to get out of here. He had to get _out _of here. He had no idea what was happening; he just knew that these criminals sounded dangerous. And he didn't want to die. Especially not like this...

"You do kind of look like Feliciano..."

And how did these people know Feli? That was what was confusing him. That other man had looked so much like Feliciano. Almost like they were related. But, Feli couldn't be involved in anything criminal. Feli was too sweet and adorable for that...

Then again, Antonio never would have guessed that _Francis _was involved in this either.

His mind was racing around in circles, which wasn't helping him think. He needed to think; he needed to figure out how he was going to escape... Although the odds really didn't look good. Since one, he was currently restrained; two, he had no idea where he was; and three, the people who had kidnapped him happened to be armed. Which he most definitely was not.

"He could connect us." The Italian's voice cut into his musings. "He connects us and it completely destroys all of our work to keep _him_ out of this fucked up mess..."

That person was the leader, Antonio was slowly gathering. The person who looked like Feli... Were they talking about Feli? What—?

No, he had to think of some way to escape... Wondering over who that person was, what they were talking about... That wasn't going to help him get away from here.

If this were a movie, then there'd be something convenient lying nearby. Like a nail sticking out of the wall that he could use to cut the tape from around his wrists. And maybe a forgotten weapon that he could turn against his captors...

But of course, there wasn't anything. Just the boxes forming a wall between himself and the other men.

"So, you want one of us to deal with him, then?" the German remarked after a moment or two of silence, voice almost entirely unemotional. "Pity. I'd hoped that we'd be able to keep from getting any innocents involved in this..."

"Non, we can't!" And Francis sounded almost as panicked as Antonio felt—he was barely daring to breathe, unable to think... "Killing him won't solve anything, Lo—Romano. He hasn't done anything. It's my fault; I should have called you when he didn't come back to the dorm..."

"But you fucking didn't!" And now the Italian—Romano—sounded upset... His voice was even trembling slightly, as if he were scared too. "You didn't and now we've got to get rid of him before anything happens to Feliciano!"

"Why would Antoine do anything to hurt sweet, darling Feli? Antoine adores him. Practically everyone at our université adores Feli. And even if Antoine _did _want to tell someone, who would he go to? The police? Our dear Monsieur Peterson?" He practically spat out the name. "Non. The police would be less than helpful."

"And what if he let something _slip_, frog?" Brit again. Antonio was starting to really dislike that guy. "I'm sure that there are plenty of people who would just _love _to get their hands on this kind of information about one of the biggest bosses in the city..."

He could hear movement now. And then Francis's voice came, harsher than he was used to hearing. "Antoine is not the type of person who would let something as important as this just _slip_, cher..."

"Artie's got a point though, Fran," the albino. "We did agree to keep it a secret between the four of us..."

"And you're all fine with _killing_ an innocent?" Francis's voice was rapidly becoming angrier. "Didn't we also agree that we were going to try to keep this from becoming a bloodbath?"

"We're going to be at _war _soon, fucking _frog_. I know that _your _kind enjoy surrendering as soon as things start getting difficult, but there's no fucking way that I'm giving up without a fight... And if we need to dispose of a few 'innocents'..."

Okay, so Antonio hadn't actually managed to come up with a plan yet. But, he'd decided that he wasn't going to just lay here and listen to these criminals discuss the best way to dispose of him.

So he now drew his knees in and then _kicked_ as hard as he could at the boxes nearest to him.

Which, they didn't fall over like he'd hoped. He'd sort of thought that maybe if they landed on top of his kidnappers and knocked them out, that might have helped his chances of escape. At least a little bit.

Unfortunately, they were apparently way too heavy to actually fall in a semi-convenient fashion...

The other inhabitants of this vehicle _did _stop talking, though. So he'd managed to capture their attention at least... For better or worse, he really had no idea right now.

"Sounds like our sleeping beauty finally woke up," the albino remarked after a few minutes. "You want me to put him out again?"

That wasn't what Antonio wanted to hear. He hurriedly drew his legs back, curling up around himself as he held his breath. Listening for a response. Please don't kill him. Please... He didn't want to die. He was scared and he didn't want to die.

It seemed like forever before the Italian-voice responded. "No. No, bring the bastard out here... I want to talk to him."

...A slight skip of hope at that. Bring him out. That might be the chance he needed. If Francis came; Francis didn't want to kill him, so he might let him go...

That hope was instantly dashed, however, as another figure stepped around the boxes and into sight. Swaggering cockily, apparently barely affected by the movement of the vehicle, his blood-coloured eyes settled on their captive. "Guten morgen, schatz. Have a nice nap?"

Antonio didn't dare move—didn't dare _breathe_—as the man walked toward him. At least until he knelt down beside him and pulled a long, sharp, glinting knife from his belt.

He immediately jerked away violently at the sight of that knife. As if he thought he'd be able to escape or something.

"Hey, hey, relax..." And Antonio was surprised when the other man's tone immediately slipped into something a little gentler as he moved closer. "This is just gonna hurt a little bit."

And that was all the warning that he received before the tape was suddenly torn from his mouth. Causing him to yelp in pain and surprise.

Which, the albino responded by chuckling in amusement, throwing the tape somewhere behind them. "Told you it'd hurt."

And the words started falling before Antonio had a chance to think. "Quién eres? Dónde estoy?" It actually surprised _him_ how scared he sounded… And the fact that he'd reverted back to Spanish. Of course, at this level of terror, he couldn't even remember how to speak in English.

Apparently it surprised the other man too, as he blinked a few times in confusion. Before his expression suddenly slipped into something that almost looked...concerned? "Hey, you're okay... We aren't gonna hurt you..."

And that was _it_.

Antonio was terrified. He was terrified; he knew that he was about to die. Because his boss had been a jerk and wouldn't let him go home and because he'd been tired and fallen asleep and then had woken up at the worst possible time. And now he was going to die if he didn't get _out _of here.

The albino now slid the knife between his ankles in a hurried motion, slicing through the tape there before moving to his wrists. Finally freeing him...

And he was down in a matter of milliseconds. As Antonio quickly brought his elbow up and smashed it as hard as he could into the man's nose. Hearing a rather loud crunch and cry of pain—probably broken, although he wasn't about to stop long enough to check.

The knife had fallen out of his grip in the process and Antonio immediately pounced to grab it, scrambling to his feet as his fingers closed around the still-warm handle. Almost losing his balance as the truck hit a particularly large bump.

He had no idea _where_ he was planning on going or _how_ he was going to get out of here. All he knew was that he needed to escape. And at least he had a weapon now...

Not that it did him any good.

As he suddenly felt something cold—almost ice-cold—push harshly against his throat, forcing his head back just as a body suddenly pressed against him from behind. A hand darting out in front and grasping his wrist, forcing the knife from his hand. He heard the clatter of it falling against the floor as if from a distance.

"Stupid move, but I'm slightly impressed, git." Antonio shuddered at the harsh, accented voice whispering in his ear. "Don't try it again, though. Unless you'd enjoy having your throat slit."

Antonio was pretty sure that he wasn't going to remain on his feet for much longer... As he was pretty sure that he was close to hyperventilating.

"Arthur!"

And now he suddenly _wasn't_ on his feet any longer. As the arms around him had disappeared, the body behind him taking a quick step back. And without that support, he collapsed. Falling onto his knees with a harsh jolt.

Before he was suddenly enveloped by a warm body. A warm, _familiar_ body that smelled like the fancy French cologne that Francis always wore. He could feel the soft fabric of Francis's favourite suede jacket against his skin... And hear the soft voice murmuring reassuringly to him in French as he rubbed his hands against Antonio's arms and nuzzled his nose against his hair.

"Je suis désole, mon ami. Je te protégerais. Je promets."

Antonio honestly had no idea what that meant. But at this point, he really didn't care. He instead just wrapped his arms around his friend and clung to him as tightly as he could, entire body trembling in terror, tears beginning to prick in his eyes.

"Gottverdammt! Arschloch...fucking broke my fucking nose!"

Antonio winced at the tone, automatically squeezing closer to the comfort that was currently encircling him.

"That's your own fault, stupido..."

Antonio lifted his head a little bit at that voice. The leader—the one who looked like Feli...

He was standing a few feet away, staring down at Antonio with an unimpressed stare. One hand resting on his hip, the other tapping a gun against his thigh.

He looked less like Feliciano when Antonio looked at him from up close. His hair was a few shades darker—and that distinctive curl was on the opposite side as Feliciano's. His skin was tanner; the lines of his face were more angular. His expression was one that would be entirely alien on Feli's sweet, cherubic face...

And his eyes...

Antonio couldn't drag his gaze from those eyes. Amber eyes that were currently glaring down at him like he was some insignificant insect. But simultaneously _swirling_ with so many emotions.

They hypnotised him. There was danger and hatred and fury and disgust in those eyes... But there was also something behind it all. That kept flickering in and out...

_Fear?_

Antonio was barely aware of the fact that he was still staring. The man _couldn't_ be more than twenty. Twenty and already the leader of a gang of criminals?

_He was attractive too..._

And _that_ thought had been entirely unexpected. Surprising enough that Antonio was suddenly jerked back to the present. Jerked back to the situation that he'd conveniently been repressing. He was about to die... They were going to kill him.

Francis seemed to feel the shudder that tore through his body at that thought, as his hug tightened for a few moments before he finally released. And Antonio remained kneeling on the vehicle's hard floor as his roommate stood.

He was taller than the leader by at least a few inches—and was surprisingly able to hold himself with complete confidence under the withering glare that he received from said leader.

"I'll take complete responsibility for Antoine..."

His glare only grew more irritated at that remark, just as the speed of the gun's tapping against his thigh increased. "Fuck you." Although his voice sounded oddly relaxed, as if this sort of conversation happened all the time.

Antonio hoped that that wasn't true.

"You know that I wouldn't let anything happen to Feliciano."

And the Feli look-alike's reaction was shockingly sudden, as he unexpectedly jerked forward and pressed the barrel of the gun right against Francis's chest. His eyes suddenly swimming in fury and fear and desperation and... "And you know that I'm not fucking leaving my fratello's life in your fucking hands!"

Antonio was pretty sure that his heart had just stopped. He should move. He should jump up and help, but there wasn't anything he could do. Not against a gun... His gaze immediately jolted toward the two members of the group. Neither of whom seemed to even be paying any _attention _to the argument.

The Brit was standing a few feet away, staring at the boxes as his lips moved silently, as if he were counting them or something. And the albino was holding the bottom of his shirt against his nose while angrily cursing to himself in German.

Even Francis didn't look at all upset by the unspoken threat against his life. He just continued to stare at the younger male, who was glaring at him in response.

And then...

"Trust me, Lovi."

...There was another moment of silence between the two. Before the gun's barrel began to slowly inch downward as the other male's posture relaxed. And then he sighed and dropped the gun back to its place at his side.

"My name is _Romano_, fucking idiota..." He brushed a hand through his hair and then his eyes rested on Antonio's for a moment. Before he groaned and then turned with a dismissive wave. "He's your responsibility now, bastard."

"Oui."

"He tells anybody and I'll take care of both of you _personally_. Capito?"

"Oui."

And now Antonio watched, somewhat dazedly, as he walked off... Stumbling and running into one of the stacks of boxes as the vehicle hit another bump.

"Fucking— Arthur! Tell that fucking bastard up there to stop the fucking van so we can get _rid_ of these fucking idiots."

Arthur rolled his eyes in response, but then nodded, flashing both of them a semi-annoyed stare. "Gladly."

* * *

A/N: This chapter... Oh God, this chapter has given me _so much trouble_... Seriously, I have not gotten this frustrated at an inanimate object in a long long time. I'm not even that super happy with it, but at this point... I'm just glad that I finally finished it.

Hopefully you guys are still with me after such a long break. And didn't lose complete interest. :(

...Anyways, so...

Lovi~ He's not dead! Which most of you got after the last chapter. And poor poor Antonio... *snuggles* So scary!

~.~.~

**Translations:** (I'm pretty sure the Spanish and Italian are right, but I'm not 100% certain...)

Quién eres? Dónde estoy? – Who are you? Where am I?  
Je suis désole, mon ami. Je te protégerais. Je promets. – I'm sorry, my friend. I'll protect you. I promise.  
Capito? – Understand?


	8. Chapter 8

**Behind the Veil**

**Part 8**

Lia's thoughts were never entirely coherent first thing in the morning. It usually took her anywhere from five to fifteen minutes for the thoughts rushing through her head to make _any_ sense whatsoever. Which was probably why the first question that darted through her mind upon waking up this particular morning was 'Why the hell did someone steal my alarm clock?'

Until she turned her head slightly and saw it, sitting a little closer to the edge of the nightstand than was usual. Which was strange, since she always left her clock in the same spot when she went to bed—facing her so that her eyes would immediately focus on the numbers when she woke up.

And not only that, but the nightstand also looked different for some reason. And the bed felt more comfortable and her pillow smelled sweeter; like it had just been washed, maybe.

It took about twenty seconds of this confused contemplation before she suddenly jerked to a seated position, eyes widening in bewilderment as she stared around the _very _unfamiliar bedroom. That _definitely_ was not hers.

Where in the world was she?

Her mind was automatically shifting from thought to thought in a panic. Where was she? How had she gotten here? What—what was the last thing that she remembered? That's where she should start.

The last thing that she remembered—the last thing that she remembered was being in the squad car with Johnson. Leaning against the window and attempting to keep from falling asleep after spending most of the afternoon together.

...She must have failed. And that must mean that Johnson had brought her here after she'd fallen asleep.

And...and her entire body relaxed at that thought. If Johnson had brought her here, then she was definitely safe. Nothing had happened.

She should get up, though. Immediately. Since she didn't want to inconvenience him anymore than she already had. As she could reasonably assume that she was currently intruding on his apartment.

She really wished she could continue inconveniencing him long enough to take a shower, though...and change clothes. As she felt absolutely disgusting after spending nearly two full days in the same outfit.

Not that she'd bother him over something so trivial when she could just go home and shower and then fall asleep and try to forget about what had happened yesterday... And then, when she woke up, she could begin panicking over what she was going to do _now_. Since she knew that there was absolutely no way that she still had a job. Not after that _mess _at the police station.

She just hoped that the chief would leave Johnson out of this. She didn't really mind losing her job—well, she _minded_, but she'd known the risks she was taking when she decided to go on that stakeout. But she didn't want her partner to lose his job as well just because he was trying to protect _her._

...And that thought was enough to force her out from underneath the warm covers. Maybe she could call the chief when she got home? She should do that before she took her shower. She could try to convince him not to fire Johnson...

_Would_ he even _want_ to fire Johnson? She really had no idea what he would do. She knew he hated her, but Johnson was one of the best officers in the city.

The very welcome scent of freshly-brewed coffee cut off that train of thought, as Lia slowly pushed the bedroom door open. _That _was what she needed right now. Not that she really had time for it, since she should call the chief as soon as possible and...

"Mornin'." And she had apparently been so deep in thought—trying to figure out what she'd even _say _to the chief—that she hadn't noticed the man currently sitting at a table inside the kitchen, right across from the bedroom door. Watching her with mostly-emotionless dark eyes.

Only _mostly_, though. If Lia had learned anything since partnering with Johnson, it was how to read the subtlest of his non-verbal cues—it really wasn't as difficult as some people made it out to be. And right now he was sending her a semi-worried look.

She responded with a smile that she hoped would be reassuring. "Good morning. Sorry for this. I fell asleep in the car, right?"

He nodded once in response, eyes never leaving hers.

"Sorry about that. I guess that stakeout took a bit out of me." She definitely didn't miss how his eyes narrowed slightly at that. Yeah, they still hadn't talked about it... Her private investigation of that albino. She'd considered bringing it up in the car, but _everything_ in the man's body language had told her that he was already upset and it would probably be better if she let him drive around and cool off for a while. And then he'd taken her out to dinner at one of the cafes that they often frequented when they were out and she'd apparently fallen asleep soon after that.

"Coffee." Her focus returned as he suddenly pushed the steaming mug in front of him so it was now sitting in front of the empty seat across from him.

"I should really be going, though..." Although she could easily tell that he wasn't planning on letting her leave that easily.

And she was proven correct when he frowned—or, his lips twitched slightly downwards in what sherecognised as a frown—and then pushed the mug closer to her seat. "Need to talk."

Yeah, this was what she had hoped wouldn't happen.

"It's fine, Johnson. I already told you that you don't need to get involved. I can handle myself." She was doing fine on her own. No problems. She'd tailed the albino to his house; she was getting closer and closer to finding out what exactly was going on with the gangs. Who the leaders were, what they were planning, everything.

She even had a contact—one of the lower level gang members. A total creep, but he was one of those men who became much more talkative once he had a few drinks in his system and, at the moment, he was her best source of information.

That was another reason why she needed to leave as soon as possible, since she was supposed to meet him for an early dinner later his afternoon and she still needed to take a shower, pick her dress out, do her hair...

And she'd really prefer that Johnson not find out about _that _aspect of her investigations.

Unfortunately, she could tell from his expression that she wasn't going to get out of this. So she gave in and walked to the table, settling herself into the empty seat and then proceeding to take a sip from the mug. A little hot, but otherwise perfect. "I managed to get a lot more information on the gangs than I expected to get, considering how close-lipped people are about them."

Johnson's facial expression didn't change at that, although she noticed that his fingers were twitching slightly against the table. Probably from withdrawal again. She really didn't understand why her partner was so _adamant _about kicking his smoking habit cold turkey. Especially since it really wasn't working...

And it wasn't going to help this conversation go any more smoothly.

"Information...?" His voice sounded vaguely inquisitive, which Lia took as something of a good sign.

She nodded, taking another sip of coffee before she continued. "The albino is actually pretty well-known in the underworld—I haven't been able to find out what his real name is, though. So far everyone's just said that he's called 'the albino'. Has a pretty dangerous reputation, too, although I'm pretty sure that most of it is just exaggeration, since I couldn't get any actual information about any of the murders that he's supposedly been involved with..."

Johnson's lips twitched slightly downwards at that and she hurriedly added, "Most people even said that he seems to be more interested in working without any sort of excessive violence. Anyway, so he's relatively well-known, although it took a while to connect him with the actual gangs. Most people completely deny that any gangs exist." Just like the chief. "But I eventually found a contact who could connect him with one of the biggest gangs."

"Contact?" And of course he settled on _that _little word.

"He knows what he's talking about." She ignored the statement, shifting her weight uncomfortably at the thought of her 'contact'. He was a scumbag, but he definitely knew what he was talking about. She sort of wished that he didn't, though, since it took _all_ of her self-control to keep from smacking the asshole during their _information sessions_.

She distractedly cupped both of her hands around the warm mug, drawing comfort from its heat. Hopefully she wouldn't need him for too much longer. "He said that there are currently two major gangs in the city. The first is run by a Russian named Braginski; as far as I know, that's his real name. Apparently he isn't overly concerned with secrecy, since everyone's too terrified to cross him. He's a big guy apparently, uses a metal pipe as a weapon..."

Not the sort of person that she'd want to go up against without the backup of the rest of the police department. From what she'd learned, his gang also seemed to be the most powerful and stable power in the city. No one knew where his actual centre of operations was, though. Or where the members lived or anything like that. So she'd decided that—at least for the moment—that was probably a dead end.

"The other major gang is a bit more interesting. The albino is the most visible member, like I said. My contact told me that he's definitely involved in this other gang; he seemed to think that he was the leader, but I'm not sure." The way he'd acted had seemed a little too unconcerned. He hadn't checked to see if he was being followed. He'd spent that time with the girl... "I'd personally guess that he's either the gang leader's representative or he may be a distraction, to keep our attention off of the real person behind the scenes. He's a little _too _visible, if you know what I mean."

Or he _could _be the real leader and she may just be reading too into this. She really had no idea. She just had the feeling that there was a _lot _more going on here than she understood right now.

She just _really_ needed to get closer to the albino. Somehow... If she could get a search warrant or get him in for interrogation or _anything _really at this point. Tail him to wherever the gang operated from...

"You shouldn't worry about it."

And her thoughts had been running off into her own little world, trying to think through her options. So much so that her partner's statement managed to completely take her by surprise. And for the next few moments, she just stared at him, probably looking incredibly surprised.

And he just stared back. Looking as if he were trying to figure out exactly what she was thinking, planning...

"Too dangerous."

Not the response she'd wanted.

"I'm not giving up just because it's a little dangerous. If I can get enough evidence that there aregangs basically _running _this city, then the chief will have no _choice _but to investigate." She took another sip of the rapidly-cooling coffee, trying to ignore the intense stare settled on her. "And you need to stay uninvolved with this, because if I _do _get fired, then I'm going to need someone still in the station."

"You're not."

Lia blinked up at him for a moment, surprised by the very-sudden remark. "I'm not?"

"He called." Johnson crossed his arms across his chest and leaned back in his chair, still staring at her. "Earlier."

Well, that was...unexpected. Good, but unexpected. Maybe it meant that he actually _was _going to take her seriously. Maybe he'd agree to let her continue investigating—officially this time.

Which...she really needed to leave. Get herself ready for tonight, physically and mentally. Hope that he had more information. Maybe, if she was lucky, he might have an idea of who the albino's girlfriend was; that would be an _incredible_ lead...

"I should go." She hurriedly rose to her feet before he could argue, glancing around her surroundings for a moment in search of her shoes; there they were, right there by the door. "I have a lot to do tonight. And you're supposed to be working later, right?"

And of course he didn't answer. Just kept watching her with a vaguely-disapproving expression, as his fingers drummed distractedly against the tabletop.

Which she decided she was just going to interpret as a 'goodbye', since she didn't want to deal with this anymore. She felt bad about not telling her partner that she was going to be following the albino and going a bit underground in order to get information. But, in this case, the ends justified the means, right?

It better, because that was how she was going to justify her decision to walk toward the door and slide her flats onto her feet, even as she felt Johnson's disapproving eyes follow her movements. She knew he was worried, but this was her _job_. She was supposed to put herself in situations that could possibly be a little bit dangerous if it was for the well-being of the city.

Of course, that reasoning didn't especially help her resolve when she heard the sound of one of the wooden chairs being pushed back from the table. And then a large hand clasped around her wrist just as she was reaching for the doorknob. Firmly enough that she wouldn't be able to break away easily, but not at all uncomfortably. And Johnson murmured her name with a tone that she couldn't identify. "Lia." And then a moment's pause before he continued, "I'll come."

No. Definitely not. She hurriedly lifted her head to flash him a what-she-hoped-was-reassuring smile. "It's fine, Johnson. I'll be safe. Like I said, I'm pretty sure that most people are just exaggerating about how dangerous the albino is... And if they aren't, then I have my weapon."

Which speaking of her weapon... Ah, he'd hung her purse up on a coat hanger next to the door, right next to her jacket.

His grip on her wrist loosened slightly at her words, which she took as an opportunity to slide free and scoop her purse off of the hook. "And since you're so determined to worry about me," she snapped one of the outside pockets open and dug around inside for a minute. Surfacing with a white box, which she immediately pressed into his hand. She'd figured that if Johnson wasn't going to buy nicotine patches for himself, then she'd buy them for him. "I want you to use these, okay? For me if nothing else. And I promise that I'll be careful with myself, okay?"

For a moment, he just stared down at the box. Expression unchanging. And she was a little worried that he'd give them back...

"Okay."

But then he nodded and she beamed back in response. _Finally_. Johnson could be so ridiculously stubborn sometimes that she'd been starting to think that she'd never be able to wear him down. "Good! And no giving up after just a couple days. I want you to keep up with them for me."

He nodded once. Which she was going to take as a promise.

And now she slipped her jacket off of its hook and pulled it on, habitually sliding her hands into her pockets to check for her apartment key—right there—and then sent her partner another smile. "I'll see you tomorrow, all right?"

He definitely didn't look convinced, but he nodded once, which was probably as good as she was going to get.

And she felt horrible about this. But...getting evidence on the gangs was what was important, forcing her boss to _admit _that there were criminal organisations in their city.

And if it would help keep the city safe, help keep the _people_ in the city safe... Then she was willing to do whatever needed to be done.

* * *

A/N: Sorry this took so long to update. I had horrible writer's block on this one... So annoying.

Let's see... Note-wise. Well, I got a few comments about how fem!Leon acts different than male!Leon last chapter she was in. And yeah, she does, you're right. xD Mainly because they have different backstories (which I'm not going into in this story because Lia's backstsory is completely unimportant to the plot and because Leon's backstory is being revealed in its own time and I don't want to give most of it away). Plus, the fact that the world itself is grittier helps influence their personalities...

Oh, and just as a by the way, the ages are also different in this. Lol. xD Johnson's actually quite a bit younger in this world then in Pleasantville. (In Pleasantville, he's like early 30's, in this he's like mid-20's).

Also, lots of people asked about couples... I can't decide if I actually want to reveal them yet, though. I guess that if you guys want me to, then I will... I don't really think that it'd be too difficult to figure most of them out.

And I found this song yesterday that totally works as a theme song for this story. It's called "Welcome to the City" by Amy Diamond... It's a rather odd song, but I actually really like it and think it works quite well if you think about it.


	9. Chapter 9

**Behind the Veil**

**Part 9**

There _had_ to be something here. Something that he was missing.

Maybe there was some vital piece of information that he needed—a piece of information that he'd be able to find if he just looked harder. There _had_ to be something somewhere, because he wasn't sure what he would do if there wasn't.

That last thought was what finally prompted Ludwig to look away from the computer screen that he'd been staring at for the past—he glanced down at his watch and then just stared at it for a few moments in shock; had it really been two hours?

He'd been sitting here for two hours, searching online through every media source that he could possibly think of. Searching for _any_ mention of a 'Gilbert Beilschmidt' or of a male albino, about twenty-three years old. And he'd found absolutely nothing.

No arrest records, no obituary, no mentions in any of the newspaper articles that he'd read through...

Ludwig knew that he shouldn't have expected to find anything. After all, for all that he knew, his brother may be in another _country _by now. He'd had seven years, after all. He may have just hired that man to bring him the package—could have given the gun to him at an earlier date and then hopped on the next plane to anywhere in the world.

It was impossible. There was no way that he was going to find him—and why was he even _trying _to find him? Gilbert had been the one who abandoned him after all...

You would think that it'd stop hurting after a while—the memory of that morning...

He should have accepted it by now... Accepted it and then moved on with his life. After all, he was a completely different person now. He was attending a rather prestigious university, studying engineering, planning his future... He wasn't that foolish twelve-year-old boy who had practically _worshipped_ his older brother anymore.

...Hero worship. He'd always adored his brother—his older, wiser, more popular, much more self-confident brother. When he was a boy, he used to dream of someday growing up to be as "awesome" as Gilbert. In his mind, Gil was greater than any of the fictional heroes in the cartoons and comics.

And that impossible mental image was only strengthened when their parents died.

He'd been nine and they'd been in Berlin, celebrating their twenty-year anniversary with a trip to his mother's birthplace. And, of course, he and Gilbert had been left with a neighbouring family for the week. Neither had entirely minded, since the mother was the type of woman who enjoyed spoiling them with sweets and she had two little boys around their age who had a real tree house with a rope ladder and a tire swing.

He hadn't immediately understood what was happening when she woke him up from a sound sleep one night. All he'd been aware of was crying and hugging and someone telling him that it would be 'all right'... It wasn't until the next morning that he found out that his parents were dead.

He and Gilbert were _alone_.

They didn't have any other family in the States—and their parents hadn't bothered keeping in touch with the family that they may have back in Germany. So the immediate question had popped up of what in the world were they going to _do_ with them? He and Gilbert had stayed with the neighbour family for the first few weeks, but they couldn't keep them forever...

And so they'd eventually decided upon foster care. They could put them into the system and hope that things turned out all right.

But, then they'd made the mistake of telling the boys that they might be split up—that there was the possibility that they'd be sent to different families... And Gilbert had refused. Gilbert had completely broken down, screaming and cursing and he had even told them that he'd rather _die _than go anywhere without his brother.

It made his actions later—only _three years_ later—more than slightly ironic, didn't it?

They'd carried him, kicking and screaming, into his bedroom and then told Ludwig that his brother would be better in the morning.

Well, they'd sort of been right about that. However, they did make the mistake of underestimating Gilbert... As they apparently thought that he wasn't serious about not being separated.

It had probably come as a huge shock to them the next morning, when they opened the doors to the boys' bedrooms and found both of them gone. Since Gilbert had decided that they wouldn't be separated, even if they had to run away.

And Ludwig had followed blindly, trusting that his then thirteen-year-old brother knew exactly what he was doing...

Which, at least Gilbert had been a fast learner, as they'd ended up living on the streets for the next five months of their lives. Gil had learned how to fight, how to find food and shelter and anything else they would need. During the day, his brother would leave him in a park or playground and disappear for hours, returning later with cuts, bruises, and hopefully food.

Five months of that, until one day when he found a little four-year-old girl lost in the park and decided to help her find her older brother. Nothing could have prepared him for the reality that, just three weeks later, he and Gilbert would be living in the home of the outwardly cold, but surprisingly compassionate Vash Zwingli. The older brother of that little girl.

A godsend for him... Not so for Gilbert, who spent the next three years in constant trouble with Vash, his school, and—on a few terrifying occasions—the law. Up until that night...

And Ludwig forced his attention down to the computer's digital clock. He couldn't keep thinking about that; he had to be in class in fifteen minutes. Although, he wasn't entirely sure if he'd be able to concentrate at all with all of these unwelcome thoughts dancing around his head and after two nights in a row of minimal sleep.

He'd gotten maybe three hours of sleep the first night, when Feli had that nightmare. Ludwig had been terrified out of his sleep that night by screaming coming from his roommate's bed. Screaming, pleading, crying out for his 'fratello'. And then he'd never gotten back to sleep; he'd been too worried about Feliciano after witnessing his complete mental breakdown. A meltdown that ended with their RA having to carry the younger boy to the infirmary, as his entire body had seemed to just shut down.

Leaving Ludwig in their empty dorm room, wondering what in the world had just happened.

_And if it had anything to do with that message..._

Feli's body had only shut down after Ludwig had asked if he knew of anyone who may want to kill him. Of course, he'd _said_ no, but...

...And that was a dangerous path to follow. Ludwig didn't want to think that Feliciano was lying. Feliwas well-known for being a truthful person; he didn't want to start doubting him now.

But—

That was the real reason why he needed to find Gilbert. Even if he'd abandoned him all those years ago, Ludwig needed to find him so he could understand exactly what was going on. He had to know who he was supposed to be protecting Feli from... Because how else could he protect him?

He glanced at the clock again. Eleven minutes now. He usually would have left at least a couple minutes ago, even if it only took four minutes to walk to class from here. He liked to arrive early.

Today, though, he was finding it almost impossible to work up the needed energy. He had a perfect attendance record; he _couldn't _be late to class. But after that first night with Feli and the shock of receiving that gun from Gilbert and the note...

And then _last_ night.

He'd spent all of last night tossing and turning in his sheets, kept awake by what seemed like hundreds of unwanted memories of his brother and thoughts about Feli and question after question after question. _Who would want to kill him? Why Feli? How did Gilbert even _know _about Feli? Had he been watching him for all these years? And if so, why hadn't he ever told him? At the very least, he could have sent him a note just to let him know that he was still alive._

And there was also that worrying question. _How was he supposed to protect Feliciano when he had no idea why he was in danger? _

He'd almost wanted to write the whole thing off as a joke, but he knew Gilbert well-enough to know that he would _never _give his gun away unless it was absolutely necessary.

So, those thoughts had been driving him insane for hours last night, and then—right when he'd finally started dropping off—his cell phone had started ringing.

"Ludwig?" The voice had been entirely unexpected—one of the last people that Ludwig would ever expect to be called by...

"Francis?"

"Oui." His voice was surrounded by static, as if he were somewhere without good reception. Ludwig had immediately stood up, something telling him that this was probably important, and then walked out of the room. He didn't want to risk waking Feliciano up, even if he sincerely doubted that _any_ phone conversation would be loud enough to wake his roommate up. He could sleep through almost anything.

"Is something wrong?" he'd questioned as soon as he closed the door behind him, still keeping his voice quiet so he wouldn't disturb anyone else on his floor. He knew that at least a few of his floor mates were rather light sleepers.

Francis had hesitated for a moment at that question, as if he weren't entirely sure how to answer. But then he laughed softly. "Non, not exactly. Antoine and I...we just ran into a little bit of trouble."

Ludwig frowned at the statement. "Trouble?"

"Oui. We decided to go out with some friends and they... Well, let's just say that they had a bit too much to drink and thought that it would be entertaining to leave us in the middle of nowhere without a ride home."

...Of course.

"So, I was wondering if you might be willing to come out and pick us up? We'd both be indebted to you."

It figured. Although, it wasn't like he was getting any sleep anyway. "Ja, fine. Where are you?"

Yes, when Francis had said that they were in _the middle of nowhere_, he hadn't been kidding. It had been an hour long drive and when he found them—

Well, it was definitely unexpected. He'd been driving along the path that Francis had described, keeping a close eye out for them and hoping that they weren't _completely _drunk... The last thing that he wanted to do was spend the rest of the night cleaning vomit out of his car.

And he'd been rather surprised when he was suddenly waved down by Francis, who was sitting on a log by the side of the road. Looking completely sober. Antonio had been sitting beside him, hands folded in his lap. And he hadn't even looked up when Ludwig stopped the car in front of them.

"Merci, Ludwig!" Francis had helped Antonio to his feet and into the backseat, not offering any sort of explanation for why his roommate was acting so out of character. Antonio was never this quiet; at first, Ludwig thought that _he _may be drunk. But he didn't smell any alcohol on either of them and Francis was definitely sober. "I know that it must have been troublesome. I suppose that we've learned our lesson, though." He chuckled, sliding an arm around Antonio's shoulders and pulling him so the other's head fell against his shoulder.

Antonio's eyes were completely unfocused, as if he were severely dazed. He just sat there, staring out of the windshield without even responding to the change of setting.

It had surprised him enough that he'd almost forgotten that he needed to drive them back—preferably as soon as possible. He only remembered when Francis cleared his throat and shifted his weight rather pointedly. Even so, Ludwig had still managed to miss the key twice, as he kept glancing toward the backseat. What in the world was wrong? Both of them were acting strange.

Neither of his passengers had paid him any attention during the drive, and he attempted to do the same. Antonio still looked dazed, while Francis was focusing all of his attention on the other male, combing his fingers through the Spanish student's dark curls while speaking to him in soft, gentle-sounding French.

It had been very strange, but Ludwig had tried to not think about it too much. He had too many other things worrying him right now.

And that last thought managed to jerk Ludwig back to the present with the terrifying realisation that he had completely lost focus on his surroundings while thinking about last night. A fact that was only emphasized when he looked down at the computer's clock and saw that he was three minutes late to class.

_Three minutes late_. _He'd never been late to class before._

"Luddy!"

And _that_ wasn't going to help anything.

"Ve~" Ludwig responded to the very familiar voice by hurriedly beginning the process of shutting the computer down and closing all of the notebooks that he'd spread around the desktop. The last thing that he wanted right now was for Feli to find out what he was searching for... Ludwig didn't want to worry him more than he already had, especially if it might lead to another breakdown.

And he just _barely _finished before Feliciano suddenly popped up behind him and wrapped his rather thin arms around his neck. "Ve~" Ludwig twitched slightly at how _close _the voice was to his ear. Then again, Feli wasn't known for his understanding of personal space. It was just one of those things that Ludwig had to understand about his roommate. "What are you working on?"

"Problems for class..." It was easy to lie about that sort of thing. And he was now four minutes late.

And...he was almost considering just not going to class.

_And what in the world was _wrong _with him? This whole mess couldn't actually be affecting him badly enough that he'd consider skipping class? He'd never skipped class in his _life_. That's what Gilbert had done..._

"Icky." And now Feliciano took a step back, allowing Ludwig just enough room to spin his chair around so he could begin gathering his notebooks and packing them away in his messenger bag. "I don't understand how Ludwig can like math so much. It's so _hard_~."

Ludwig knew that he should really go to class. He really should, but...

But he was slowly arriving at the realisation that he didn't actually want to leave Feliciano.

Which was a shocking thought. Although, then again, it wasn't like he actually got to see Feliciano all that often anymore. Their schedules were so different and he now spent so much time working and studying that it wasn't at all uncommon for them to miss each other for days at a time. He always woke up much earlier his roommate in the morning and usually came in late enough that Feli was often too sleepy to say more than a 'good night' before he slipped away into his dreams.

They'd had a _few_ conversations recently, but not very many.

So, it was only natural that he'd feel this desire to spend time with him, right? Even if it meant skipping class...

"Why?" He only now realised that Feliciano had asked him a question. Why did he like math? "I suppose that I enjoy it because it is...satisfying to be able to arrive at the correct conclusion. It's like a puzzle." And it was concrete. There was only one correct answer to every problem... Math didn't lie to you or try to make excuses.

And he looked up to see Feli staring at him with a slightly confused expression, as if he didn't understand what he meant. Ludwig wasn't sure that he wanted to attempt to explain his thoughts, though. He'd never been good at explaining his thoughts, his feelings, all of those things that he didn't entirely understand.

"Maybe that's why I don't like it, then." And he was slightly—only slightly, though—surprised by the response, which was attached to one of Feli's usual smiles. "Don't you think that it's more fun when there are lots of conclusions and you're never really sure which one is right? Like with art! You and your friend can draw different pictures and they'll both be good! It's just how you look at things, right?"

...And Ludwig just stared back at him. That was...deeper than most things that Feliciano said...

Ludwig had, for quite a long time, suspected that there was much more to his roommate than the oblivious, happy, pasta-loving persona that he showed to the world... Moments like now and that night, when he'd told him about his brother...

"At least, that's what I think," Feliciano broke into his thoughts by throwing himself at Ludwig's arm, tugging on it slightly in a silent request that he stand up and join him. "But Ludwig's probably right! Ludwig's lots smarter than me after all! I know, let's go get lunch! The cafeteria has spaghetti today! It's not very good spaghetti, but at least it's pasta!"

Ludwig nodded, barely comprehending the exclamations coming from his roommate's mouth. Not that he really needed to, as Feliciano was more than happy to be skipping along toward the cafeteria.

He was skipping class. Skipping class to go with Feli...

And, he actually was feeling okay about it right now. Because, he wanted to be with Feli. Let his excited chatter break through the questions and memories that were now constantly pounding through his mind.

Except for the one... The thought that wouldn't leave.

_Protect Feliciano._

Protect him from _what_?

* * *

A/N: Well, hello, insane amounts of exposition. What are you doing here?

Yeah, I think that's the most exposition that I've ever put into a chapter... Ahh, I feel like it was rather necessary and I don't think I did a terrible job at incorporating it, but _still_...

Meh. ;P

Anyway, so I know some of you have found this already, but to anyone who hasn't, I have character pictures for this story on my livejournal. The link to the University students list is here theauthoress13 . livejournal . com / 28769 . html#cutid1. I also have one up for Romano's gang, which is the next entry after that one. And there will be one up for Ivan's gang once I've actually introduced them in the story. And I'll just do a text one for the OC people, since I don't have pictures for them obviously. ;)

Um, oh... So just as a random thing. I was thinking about this story last night and thinking about the title (which I took from a Tennyson) poem... And actually realised that it actually works surprisingly well as a symbolic representation of the story. If you consider the fact that one of the story's major themes is separation (particularly of brothers) and veils are typically symbolic of separation...

Yeah, this story actually has themes and symbolism. I don't know either. ;) I actually sort of love symbolism and thematic stuff in stories, as long as they're rather subtle. Although I tend to not notice them in my own stories until I'm already a ways in. xD And then I flip out a little bit and people are like "You wrote it and you didn't notice it until NOW?" To which I am like "Yes, I'm slow. We established this a looooong time ago."


	10. Chapter 10

**Behind the Veil**

**Part 10**

Antonio had woken to the sound of singing. Soft, gentle singing in a language that he didn't understand. Familiar, but completely incomprehensible, at least to his exhausted mind...

The singing was also coupled with the feeling of fingers running through his hair. Movements that were incredibly soothing and calming and made him want to drop off to sleep again.

"Mm...Fran?"

Antonio was pretty sure that it was Francis who was playing with his hair, since Franny liked to play with his hair quite often. Especially when they were doing homework together.

Antonio liked doing homework with Franny. Since he'd get to do his reading while resting his head on Francis's lap and Franny would do his own work while simultaneously playing with Antonio's curls. It was relaxing; sometimes too relaxing, as Antonio had dropped off right in the middle of a paragraph many many times...

"Bonjour, Antoine."

His mind felt very foggy right now, like it often did when he first woke up. Foggy, but like there was something important hiding in the fog. Something that he needed to remember...

He now cracked his eyelids open and lifted his head slightly so he could stare up at his roommate, who just smiled back in response and continued to curl strands of his dark hair around his fingers.

"What time is it?" was what Antonio meant to say; although it came out sounding more like some sort of alien language.

Which Francis still seemed to understand somehow, as he laughed and responded with a slight tug of Antonio's hair and then a relaxed "Don't worry about that, mon ami. I emailed your professors and told them that you were sick."

Huh?

And now his eyes crossed over toward Francis's nightstand, where his alarm clock was resting next to a pair of reading glasses. The little red numbers reading _1:37._

That jerked him wide-awake. _1:37 _in the afternoon? He'd missed almost all of his classes then!

This was bad. This was really really bad. He couldn't miss all of his classes! He'd get so behind and he already was having trouble keeping up in some of his classes and...and...

And that was the moment when the memories of last night crashed back in a towering wave of terror and confusion and...and...

Maybe it had been a dream? A horrible, terrifying dream? But he couldn't believe that. The memories were too vivid. Those red Diablo eyes gazing down at him and the feel of cold steel against his throat and the amber eyes swirling with emotion.

_Those eyes..._

They'd haunted his dreams last night. Kept flashing in front of him. Complicated, beautiful...alluring.

"Antoine?"

And Francis's voice suddenly jerked him back to the present. And forced those unwanted memories back to the front of his mind.

His best friend was in a gang. He'd been helping those other people. His best friend was a criminal and had been lying to him for who could even _guess _how long...

"Antoine." He'd backed away during those panicked thoughts and now watched as Francis slowly scooted closer. Francis's eyes were intent on his, his hands held out in a surrendering position, as if he were attempting to approach a particularly skittish kitten.

...Within the next few seconds, Antonio's head was being cradled against his best friend's chest. Francis's voice was soothing, sighing to him in soft, tender French. With the occasional murmur of "It's okay. You're safe. You're safe, Antoine."

Safe. How could he be safe when there were criminals who wanted to kill him? They _would_ have killed him last night if Francis hadn't stopped them.

"What—?" He wasn't even sure what he wanted to ask. _What's going on? Who are you really? Why were you with those criminals?_

"Shh," Franny now kissed him on the forehead. "I'll explain, mon ami. You deserve to know the truth, now that you're involved anyway. But first~!"

And Antonio was more than slightly surprised when Francis suddenly jumped to his feet and sent him one of the smiles that he usually used on the girls or boys that he liked. "First, I will make us both coffee, oui?"

"Ah, sí?"

That was really the only answer Antonio could think to give. It was incredibly strange to watch Francis right now, since he was acting like nothing unusual had happened last night. Like this was a normal morning—or afternoon, Antonio supposed.

He disappeared into the sink room for a few minutes and then returned with a coffeepot full of barely sanitary water. He opened the machine, placed a clean filter inside, and then poured a cup of his ridiculously expensive ground coffee—Franny _hated _the cheap stuff and absolutely refused to drink it—into the machine.

Franny was a criminal. Antonio couldn't forget that. He'd helped those people steal the boxes from the warehouse. They'd knocked out a security guard unconscious; they'd threatened him... Antonio couldn't ignore the fact that his roommate was dangerous. Even if he was currently making him coffee, as if it was a normal morning.

"Why?"

The word probably startled Francis as much as it surprised him. But, that was really what he wanted to know right now. "Why were you—?" with a bunch of criminals. "Why did you—?" lie to me.

"It's okay, Antoine." Francis crossed the room and dropped beside him again, resting his hand on his arm... His pale fingers stood out so clearly against his darker skin—an odd thing to notice, but Antonio needed something to focus on besides the fact that he had no idea what to think or feel right now. "It is just difficult to know where to start."

"Those people were criminals, sí?" He knew the answer, but he wanted to hear it from Francis's own lips.

"Oui. They are." And he stated it so matter-of-factly. As if it were a perfectly normal statement, as if there was nothing wrong with this situation.

"Then why were you there? How do you know them?" Antonio had to hold himself back from attacking his friend with questions. He had to fight to keep the questions from spilling out all at once.

Particularly when Francis's lips twisted upwards into a cruel smirk, crueller than anything that Antonio had ever seen on his friend's face before. "Ah, why was I there? Because I am one of them, mon ami."

And there went any hope that maybe this had been a one-time thing. Even if everything had pointed toward the contrary, Antonio hadn't wanted to believe that his friend was a criminal. "Why?"

"Probably selfishness." He leaned back against the bed's headboard and stared up at the ceiling with a puzzled expression. Although Antonio had no idea why _he _looked puzzled when he actually knew what was going on. "Maybe that's why all of us are doing this. It's easier than actually dealing with our problems..."

...You know, sometimes Antonio felt like Francis was speaking a different language when they were talking. And not just because sometimes his roommate would switch into French in the middle of a sentence.

"I don't underst—"

"Feliciano..." Antonio immediately froze at the sudden name. He'd almost forgotten about the fact that somehow Feli was involved in this. The leader with the emotion-filled eyes had seemed angry and upset about the fact that he knew Feliciano. "Feli's told you that he's an only child, right?"

"Sí..." But the leader had looked so much like Feli. "Are they—?"

"Romano and Feliciano are brothers." Francis stood suddenly and then crossed the room to the coffeepot, his back facing Antonio as he continued to speak. "Feli doesn't know that his brother is still alive, though. And Romano wants to keep things that way."

Romano... Hadn't Francis called him something else while they were there, though? Maybe. It was hard to remember most of what had happened last night. It was like his brain was trying to force the memories away.

"Why?"

"That's not important." Antonio watched distractedly as Francis bent down and removed the bottle of creamer from their mini-fridge, filling Antonio's mug a quarter of the way full with creamer—Antonio really didn't like coffee all that much; he could only tolerate it if there was a lot of creamer—and then poured a little bit into his own mug. "Just know that it's very important that no one ever finds out that they're related. And if anyone does..." He poured the coffee into the mugs and then crossed the room again, sliding the warm drink into his hands. "It'll be both of our heads."

"But, why are you with them?"

"Blood is thicker than water, I suppose."

...Francis didn't like to just _answer_ Antonio when he asked questions.

Although Franny must have noticed the slightly annoyed expression crossing his friend's face, as he laughed and then kissed him on the forehead. "It's simple, Antoine. I need to keep an eye on my baby brothers. So I decided that the best way to do so would be to attend this university with Feli while simultaneously helping Lo—Romano keep everything in order."

...

Wait, _what?_

Francis was now taking a sip of his coffee, eyes grinning at his roommate.

"But... Aren't you and Feli cousins?" That was right, wasn't it? Feli had always said that they were cousins...

They couldn't be cousins _and _brothers, right?

Antonio was starting to feel really mixed up about what was right and what was wrong right now...

"Feli has no idea that we're actually related." He took another sip of coffee and then leaned back against the headboard again. "He just calls me his cousin because I've been working in their home since I was ten. Maman told me who my father was before she died and since I didn't know where else to go, I went to him..."

He snorted, tilting the mug slightly so the coffee splashed against the sides. "A rather unpleasant shock for him, I imagine. Having your bastard show up on your doorstep. Lucky for him that I don't look anything like him."

"So...you're half brothers?"

"Oui." He sighed and rested his head against the wall, watching Antonio with a tired smile. "Of course Papa didn't want anyone to know that I was his son, but he didn't dare throw me out into the streets, so he hired me as a servant and paid me to keep my mouth shut."

...All Antonio could do for a moment was stare at him in shock. Then he cleared his throat and nervously took a sip of the coffee before murmuring a quick, "But, doesn't that mean that you should be keeping it a secret from me, Franny?"

"Non. I trust you. Even if I didn't, it's not like his reputation could get much worse. Grandfather commits apparent suicide and then the oldest son dies in a car accident. Father ends up an alcoholic who's gambled away most of the family's wealth on horse races?" He rolled his eyes again and made a dismissive motion with his hand.

O—okay... "What about the others? Who are they?"

"That's not important." He now laughed, leaning forward so their noses were almost touching. "It's sometimes dangerous to be too curious, mon ami. Just continue to be my cher Antoine and don't worry about silly things that don't concern you."

But...

Antonio was pretty sure that this did concern him. Especially since he had so many more questions. Especially about _him_...

_Romano._

In all honesty, he didn't care about those others. They had terrified him. If he never saw them again, it would be too soon—and he imagined that the albino especially wouldn't be very happy to meet him again.

But that leader. The image was burned into his memory, even if the rest of last night was a blur. Those eyes, swirling with so many emotions... Anger and disgust and expected things like that. But also fear and concern and... Other things that he hadn't been able to identify.

_They'd been beautiful eyes. Almost haunted... _Why was he leading a gang of criminals? Who _was_ he?

Antonio wanted to see him again.

That realisation came suddenly. Almost out of nowhere. He wanted to see this _Romano_ again. He wanted to see those eyes again.

"Oui, Antoine?"

And Antonio suddenly realised that he'd started zoning out and now Franny was staring at him with a slightly worried expression.

"You won't worry about it anymore, Antoine? Just forget about what happened last night."

Antonio rather doubted that Francis would be very happy if he informed him that he wanted to go see Romano again. That wouldn't really be doing what Francis said at all...

"Sí!" Which was why he smiled and nodded, flashing Francis his brightest smile. "We'll just forget all about it!"

And Francis smiled back in response, looking rather relieved. "Oui. We'll do that. That will be best for everyone."

...Sí.

* * *

A/N: Exposition. Exposition. Exposition.

Short chapter, but it's just exposition really. Now we can start moving moving moving!

Fact: Roommates who make you coffee = awesome roommates. I didn't even like coffee until my roomie started making it for me.

And I feel like there was more that I wanted to say, but I can't think of what it was... Antonio is naughty and Francis loooooooooooves to take his own sweet time answering freakin' questions. Seriously. There was one paragraph in here that took me three days to write because I couldn't figure out what in the world Franny was doing.


	11. Chapter 11

**Behind the Veil**

**Part 11**

They were all bastards. Completely incompetent bastards.

Damn it, these idiots were supposed to be members of the second-most powerful and _dangerous_ gang in the fucking city. Bastards couldn't even follow simple directions like 'be at _this_ address at four in the morning so we can unpack all of the shit that we stole'.

"Where the hell is Trovato?" Where the hell was _anyone_?

Lovino growled to himself as he walked through the currently-empty warehouse; the warehouse that _should _have been filled with his henchmen. And most definitely wasn't. The only sound audible was that of a distant siren and the tapping of his designer shoes—because no self-respecting mob boss would be caught _dead _in anything but—against the concrete floor.

Those bastards better show up soon, because there was no way that Lovino Vargas was going to spend his morning unpacking all of those ridiculously heavy boxes from that truck, especially after having spent the entire night overseeing this operation, since he couldn't trust any of his _men _to do it.

Incompetent assholes.

Lovino was exhausted, stressed, and definitely didn't need to be worrying about his men ignoring his orders on top of everything else.

_Especially after what had happened with Francis and that Spanish bastard..._

He couldn't think about that now... He had to concentrate on figuring out where his bastards were; he'd decide what to do with those two later.

_Decide whether he should kill them or not. Since that Spanish idiot now knew about him and about Feli. And if he told anyone, then it would completely ruin everything. Feli would be in danger again and all of the work that Lovino had done would be for _nothing_. Faking his death, leading these idiots... _

_And he'd have to kill Francis too, because he'd always known that he'd end up being a liability. And Feli was more important than anything else, even if Francis was his—his— _

"Gottverdammt. Where the hell is everyone?"

And he wasn't supposed to be thinking about them. He hurriedly turned, shooting the albino idiot an annoyed glare in response to his question. Even if it was the same question that was going through his own mind. He should probably call Alcide and find out _why_ his men had disobeyed his orders.

They'd better have a damn good reason too; otherwise he may just consider some mass homicide. Wipe out his entire gang and all of his problems would disappear...

"You," he turned and pointed toward Gilbert, who responded with his own annoyed glare, "You and Arthur start unloading the fucking truck while I find out where everyone is. And don't drop anything or I'll be using what're in those boxes on you."

Which was a completely empty threat, as those boxes were filled with weapons that would soon be traded to that damned Russian in an attempt to keep the peace for at least a few more weeks—maybe a few months if Lovino was lucky.

Gilbert responded by rolling his eyes and then he saluted in a way that was far from respectful, "Aye aye, Boss," before turning and returning to the back of the truck, where Arthur had better be waiting.

...And now Lovino concentrated again on the emptiness of the warehouse. Which was a bad sign. A very bad sign. Sure his men were incompetent bastards, but for _all _of them to not be here...

_It had to be because of Ricci._

There was no one else who _could _have done this. Since only Nicholas Ricci was stupid enough to go against Romano's direct orders and authoritative enough to get the others to go along with him...

It was why Lovino had only allowed a handful of people to know about what was actually happening tonight. The other members of his gang only knew that there was a shipment coming in that needed to be unloaded, which happened often-enough that no one would be suspicious.

Actually, he'd _wanted_ to keep the knowledge only between himself and Francis—would have loved to keep it entirely to himself, but Francis had actually been the one who came up with the plan—but then the stupid Frenchie had told him that they _needed_ more people in their confidence.

So Arthur, Gilbert, Frenchie, and Alcide were the ones who'd helped him with the crime. _And_ the ones who knew what it was that they'd stolen and _why _they'd stolen it.

Namely, a shipment of black-market weapons. At least fifty guns, plenty of ammunition, and explosives. Weapons which he was planning on selling to Ivan Braginski—the leader of their rival gang and the most powerful and dangerous man in this entire city—in return for a declaration of peace between their two "organisations".

Of course, Lovino knew that his men would be furious if they found out what he'd done, since this meant that Braginski was even _more_ powerful and it would only be a matter of time before he began to move in on more of their territory...

But if that was what he needed to do in order to keep the city safe for Feliciano, then he'd do it.

_But if Ricci had found out..._

Lovino had never trusted that bastard. He was one of the older members of the gang, one of the men who had followed his grandfather and then remained after Lovino had been forced to take the old idiot's place after somebody knocked him off—_probably one of his own men_. Ricci was arrogant, overly-ambitious; he would've been the natural choice for leader if Lovino hadn't shown up. And he didn't even bother hiding the fact that he didn't respect Romano's word.

Someone must have told him what was happening tonight and he'd convinced or ordered the others to stay away. For what reason? An ambush? Insurrection? Just wanted more proof that Romano wasn't capable of leading these idiots?

_Either way..._

"Oi! Bastardos!"

He hurried around to the opposite side of the truck, where the two idiots were standing, having already started unloading the truck.

_Of course, this might just be paranoia. He still had no _proof _that this had anything to do with Ricci. He didn't even have any real proof that Ricci was trying anything. _

"Pack that shit back up." You could never be too careful, though. Not when you were playing this kind of dangerous game. "We're taking it straight to Braginski."

"_What?_" Gilbert almost dropped the box that he'd been carrying at that. "But we just started unloading it!"

"I changed my mind." And of course Francis wasn't here to help; he was the one who was actually good at all of this planning and thinking and strategising. Ugh, if Lovino ever saw that Spanish bastard again... "Put it back in the truck."

Gilbert actually _pouted _in response to that. Childish bastard. While Arthur just rolled his eyes and turned to set the crate that he'd been carrying back in the truck. At least they'd only gotten five or six boxes out. Bastards should be happy that he hadn't waited until they were completely done to tell them to put everything back.

And he wouldn't bother calling Braginski to tell him about the change in plan. There was no need to be that generous, after all. He'd just unload the boxes into one of his other warehouses—he had at least a dozen all over the city, bought with a combination of money made from their less-than-legal endeavours and the money he and Francis had collected as 'payment for silence' from his parents—and then tell Braginski that if he wanted the weapons, he could go pick them up on his own time.

He'd call Alcide, though. Find out where the lazy bastard was, since _he_ definitely should be here. He was the one who was in charge of directly dealing with Romano's underlings, after all. That's why he (well, Francis) had hired him, so Lovino wouldn't have to actually involve himself with his idiotic henchmen unless he _absolutely_ had to...

The fact that he _wasn't _here was worrying. Ricci wouldn't go after Alcide, right? Of course not. If he went after Alcide, then Romano would finally have _proof _that the asshole was a piece of slime that he couldn't trust farther than he could throw him.

_Unless he got someone else to kill him. Make it look like an accident or a suicide like grandfather._

"Once you get that packed up, tell what's-his-face to get ready to drive down to Davies Wharf." And he couldn't think like that. That was just the paranoia talking. He had to keep his head. "Warehouse number twelve."

And Gilbert flicked his wrist in a vague motion of acknowledgement as he picked up another box and slid it into the box. The movement was good enough for Lovino at this point; it wasn't like _he_ wanted to be doing all of this extra work, either. He just wanted to go home and fall into his bed—might not even bother changing out of his clothes—and go to _sleep_.

Not that he'd be able to get much sleep after what had happened with Francis and that Spanish bastard. It'd probably end up being another all-nighter, just like last night and almost the night before. Worrying about his stupid little brother and wondering how he was doing. Wishing he could just see him once more.

Not that he wanted to see him because he missed him or anything! He just had to make sure that the potato bastard was taking care of him! The only reason that Lovino had _allowed _the two to be roommates—_more like bribed the school into rooming them together_—after all, was because the bastard was ridiculously muscular and would therefore be able to take care of Feli if something happened to _him_.

Of course, out of all of the muscular bodyguard-type people in the world, the one who happened to be attending one of Feli's schools-of-choice _had_ to Ludwig, the potato bastard. Brother of _his _hench-albino-bastard. He'd definitely been less than happy when he found out about _that _little factoid_._

Still, if something did happened to him—and it was really only a matter of time 'til someone decided to take him out like grandfather—the potato bastard would most likely be able to protect Feliciano.

Since it would _also_ only be a matter of time after Lovi's death before some idiot decided to go after Feliciano. The last heir to the 'mighty Roman Empire'—to use the name that their grandfather had used for their little gang for some unexplained reason.

Grandfather had been an idiot. It was probably the reason for why he'd ended up getting his skull blasted open by his own gun.

And his thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the sound of feet pounding against the concrete. Probably cheap tennis shoes. No self-respecting shoes would make a sound like that...

" Boss!"

And there was the bastard.

Lovino turned toward the figure hurrying toward him and fixed him with his most angry, disapproving scowl. Which earned him a visible gulp of fear.

"Where the _fuck_ have you been, Trovato?"

It had been Francis's idea to hire Alcide. And, Lovino _hated _to admit this with a fucking _passion_, but it'd been a very _very_ good idea to do so. The guy was smart; at least, compared to the _rest _of his incompetent henchmen. He was the sort of person who didn't draw unnecessary attention to himself. He just did his job.

Bastard also had a talent for making sure that things ran smoothly and was good at keeping track of what everyone else was doing at all times. Lovino wasn't entirely sure _how _he managed to know everything that he knew, but he really didn't care. As long as his bastards were doing what he wanted them to do then everything was fine...

The guy wasn't overly-ambitious either, which was always a plus. He'd only joined the gang out of desperation after losing his job and most of his life-savings. He'd ended up in danger of losing his home and was terrified that he, his wife, and their two-year-old daughter were going to end up on the street...

And that's when Francis had found him and offered him a job. Apparently.

Francis had a tendency to do that quite often—always without thinking to ask for Romano's permission. Stupid Frenchie. That was also how they'd ended up with the albino bastard.

Since apparently Francis liked picking strays up off the streets.

...Although, at least Alcide was Italian. Lovino could forgive a lot of things if you were Italian. Even if the guy didn't dress like one; he was currently wearing a pair of frayed, mud-spattered blue jeans and a dark red hoodie with a blue 'G' stitched on the front. His dark hair—already starting to grey a little bit; he was only thirty-two or something like that—was sticking up like he hadn't even bothered to take a comb to it and he _definitely_ hadn't shaved in a day or two, judging by the stubble on his chin and cheeks.

Although, Lovino couldn't help but notice that the other man seemed upset. And was also panting, as if he'd run all the way here.

He was about to ask what was wrong... _And he couldn't help but feel the initial creep of paranoia in the back of his mind... _But was interrupted by the sudden, obnoxious shout of "Dude, what the hell happened to you? You look like something the dog ate and then puked back up on the carpet!"

...You know, sometimes Lovino really just wanted to shoot that stupid albino bastard in the head. Just to make him _shut the fuck up for once_.

Gilbert had walked around to join Lovino and Alcide, hands shoved into his pockets as he attempted to swagger over. Would have looked more impressive if his nose wasn't bruising a nice shade of purple. And Arthur had followed and was now flipping one of his daggers between his fingers in a bored motion.

Apparently Arthur wasn't in a good mood tonight, since he'd hardly said anything. Although then again, Frenchie wasn't here to annoy him, so that could be why.

"What the fuck is going on, bastardo? And where is everyone?" Lovino impatiently tapped his foot against the ground as he glared down at Alcide, who had _almost _managed to catch his breath.

"I—" He sighed and then stood, taking a deep breath as he glanced around. "I don't know... I just found out—" Hesitation. "Just found out that Ricky is talking."

...Lovino had no idea who Ricky was. Then again, he didn't know the names of most of the people who worked for him. It was a lot easier to just call them all 'bastard'. "Talking to who?"

"The cops."

His eyebrows rose at that. "...Sì?"

In most other towns, that sort of development might prove problematic, but definitely not in_ this_ city. Since Lovino was currently paying the chief of police a rather exorbitant amount of money to keep his nose out of Romano's business. And he knew that Braginski had done the same.

This Ricky definitely shouldn't be talking to the polizia, though. Not unless Romano ordered him too.

"She's working on her own, though," Alcide continued. "The chief ordered her to stop investigating, but she's still working. And she's meeting with Ricky tonight."

And Gilbert cut in before Lovino could say anything. "_Her_?"

That had sounded more interested than it should have sounded. Like Gilbert knew something about this. Lovino immediately sent the other a suspicious look.

While Alcide just nodded. "Sí. They've apparently been meeting for a few weeks now. At least, that's how long he's been bragging to some of the other men about his new 'girlfriend'. I sent someone to follow him a few nights ago so I could investigate her a bit. And then I found out this morning that she's a cop..."

"Rick's an idiot." That was Gilbert again. "I went out drinking with some of the men before. And he talks way too fucking much when he's plastered."

_Which meant he was a liability. If anyone—especially a cop—managed to find out who Romano really was, then Feli might end up in danger. _"When is he meeting with her again?"

"Tonight."

"Do you know what he's told her?"

Alcide shook his head, a look of apology crossing his face. "No."

"Hey, don't worry about her, Boss." And Gilbert suddenly appeared out of nowhere to throw an arm over Lovino's shoulders in some sort of fucking buddy-buddy move. "We already know about her. She's just a rookie; nobody takes her seriously. There's no way she'll end up becoming a threat."

...Lovino was going to tear Gilbert's balls off in the next few seconds if he didn't get away from him.

"Besides," Apparently Lovino's mind-threats had worked, since Gilbert now dropped his arm—lucky for him and his balls. "I thought that we wanted to keep from turning this thing into a bloodbath. You kill one innocent cop and the _entire city _will be pissed off. Especially if said cop is cute, young, and a chick."

Lovino knew that was true. He couldn't risk getting anyone else involved in this. And if they killed a cop, then Braginski would be able to use that against them—along with everything _else_ _that _he already had. But, on the other hand, if she knew too much...

_Chigi~ Where the hell was Francis when he needed him? _

"How important is this Rickety-bastard?"

Alcide blinked in surprise and then continued, now sounding unsure. "I suppose he's not very important. He's not very trustworthy—little more than a common thug, really."

"Fine." Probably wouldn't have any family or close friends either. "Then I want him taken out of the picture, capito?" He glanced toward Arthur. "Find out how much the cop knows, and if she's too close to anything then kill her too."

The British bastard nodded at that, and then turned and began walking in the opposite direction, looking completely calm about what he'd just been ordered to do.

_Fucked up bastard._

"And you two!" Now he turned toward his other henchmen, neither of whom looked nearly as relaxed. Gilbert looked rather annoyed, while Alcide just looked unsure and worried. "I'm going home. You two take this shit to that warehouse and then unload it all. You drop or steal anything and..."

Gilbert rolled his eyes and cut him off before he could finish detailing what he would do to them if they dropped or stole any of those weapons. Obnoxious bastard. "Ja. Ja, we get it. Go and get take your little nap while we do all of the real work."

"We?"

Annoyed glance at Alcide. "Yes, _we_. You're not leaving me to do all of this alone."

"I have to take Vanni to school this morning, though. My wife is working late..."

"Dude, I am _not _unloading that entire truck by myself! That's totally not awesome!"

And this wasn't going anywhere interesting anytime soon, so Lovino decided that it was time to leave. He just needed to find a taxi, ride home, and then maybe take a few hundred sleeping pills... Maybe he'd actually be able to get more than a couple hours of sleep tonight. Maybe.

* * *

A/N: Huzzah! This chapter is finally finished! And it's insanely complicated and dense. So yes.

I like all the alternate character interpretations that I get to do in this. Wee for differentness~ But poor Lovi. He makes me feel bad for him.

And Lia is going to be in a very bad position quite soon. Oh, Lia... . You should be more careful or you're going to get yourself killed.

On an unrelated note, yesterday was Bastille Day and it was also the day when my ridiculously huge book on the French Revolution came in! I was very excited about that. Especially since the book is "Citizens" by Simon Schama and he's one of my favourite historians to read. *excited* :D


	12. Chapter 12

**Behind the Veil**

**Part 12**

Just three more stops. She just had to suffer through three more stops, a four block stroll through one of the sketchier parts of the city, and then a few hours of drunken leers and attempted gropes.

Sometimes Lia wondered why in the world she was even doing this... Her boss apparently couldn't care less about these gangs... Or at the very least, he wasn't willing to take her seriously. Yes, she knew that her evidence wasn't the strongest, but she _knew _that there was something going on. And she did have _some _evidence...

And now she groaned and then allowed her head to fall against the back of her very uncomfortable subway seat. You know what would be nice right now? To own her own car. Then she could just drive to the meeting with her seedy little informant. She wouldn't have to sit here for however long it had been since she'd gotten onto this train, attempting to calm herself as they started and stopped and started and stopped.

She _had to _do this. Even if she hated it, and even if her partner disapproved of her methods.

But Johnson would understand eventually. She felt horribly guilty about this now, but once she'd uncovered more information about these gangs... She knew that the chief would be _forced _to respond once she'd discovered exactly what was going on. Once she had enough evidence.

"Now arriving at Green Street. Please allow passengers to disembark before entering the train..."

Only one more stop now. Lia shifted her weight in her seat and laid a hand on top of the purse that had been resting in her lap throughout the trip. Feeling slightly more reassured by the feel of her gun resting at the bottom of her purse.

She wished that she had somewhere on her person where she could hide her weapon, but her purse was as close as she was going to get. The dress that she had bought for the occasion—which she was going to _burn_ as soon as physically possible—was incredibly tight, skimpy, low-cut, and so short that she was amazed that it'd been created to be worn in public. Definitely not created for someone who needed to carry a concealed weapon.

That didn't matter, though. Because, if she were lucky, this would be the last time she'd have to meet with this man. Now that she had that other lead... The girlfriend.

She was pretty sure that her contact didn't have much more information that he could give her anyway, so if she could move on to someone else... Preferably someone else who was more deeply involved with these criminals.

It would be much more difficult to earn this girl's trust, but... She could do. She _would _do it.

And the train screeched as it slowed to a stop; the overly-perky voice announcing the station name and pre-recorded warnings.

Lia quickly rose to her feet, reaching up to grab at the handles above her head as the car jolted slightly. And then she crossed the carriage, stepping out onto the platform. She'd visited this station many times before—one of the less-maintained ones. She ignored the other passengers, quickly making her way to the flight of stairs that would lead to the surface. Upstairs, along a corridor, up another flight and then a slow-moving escalator. And then she was outside, eyes quickly adjusting to the dusky light.

She could feel the stares that she was attracting; she'd decided to wear a long, grey trench coat over the dress, but it still left her legs bare. And with her red high heels, chosen specifically to make her legs look longer than normal.

Ugh, she couldn't wait to get home to change into a pair of sweatpants and one of her grungy T-shirts. Preferably with a tub of ice cream and a stupid horror movie or two.

It was only four blocks to the bar, although the walk honestly seemed much _much _longer...

She was probably subconsciously _making_ the walk longer, since the last place she really wanted to be right now was sitting at the bar in _Ripper's _with a guy who would be constantly trying to stick his hand up her skirt. And she'd have to be pretending to _enjoy_ it while still playing hard-to-get. Since there was no _possible_ way that she was letting her little deceit actually progress any farther than it already had.

And she could already hearthe place up ahead. Loud guffaws, drunken singing, and of course the awful music... Since the owner had apparently never quite decided whether he would rather own a bar or a disco. The setting itself was more like that of a low-class tavern, which she easily could have handled without a problem, but the fact that the owner had also inexplicably outfitted the place with bright flashing lights and was constantly playing bad seventies music... That was what kept sending her home with migraines.

And now to begin her little subterfuge.

She used to act all the time when she was in high school. She'd been good too; probably could have made a career of it if she'd gone on with it. This role was a piece of cake compared to some of the characters she'd played in the past...

_Just send a flirty smirk to the doorman as you walk confidently toward the entrance, high heels click-clacking against the uneven sidewalk as you sway your hips a little bit more than strictly necessary. He'll immediately grin back and motion for you to enter..._

Ugh, and she _hated_ this place.

"Hey, babe! Ya fin'lly made it!"

Almost as much as she hated this entire situation.

Rick Andrews: a common thug, low-rung member of the albino's gang. Complete lush and disgusting pervert. The only real contact she had right now, unfortunately.

He was sitting at a booth, two empty tumblers and a third half-full set in front of him. Grinning like an idiot as she unbuttoned her coat and allowed it to fall from her shoulders in a practiced motion. Nice and slow. Tantalizing.

_...Ugh, and she was going to _burn_ this dress after tonight._

"Hey, Ricky~" But at least it was an easy role. Slow and sensual movements, flirting smiles always hinting at more than was being offered. Easy easy.

She could turn her head and send a coquettish look to the bartender—that girl, she'd flirt with _anyone_, wouldn't she? No one would pay any attention to the nod that she received in response. Just a simple look and a simple nod and she could be assured that her darling _Ricky's _glass would remain full until the moment he passed out underneath the table.

It was a little nerve-wracking, since she was almost positive that the man—she'd never learned his real name, since everyone just called him Bartender—_knew_ exactly who she was and why she was here. How? She really had no idea. Why he'd apparently decided to help her? She _also_ had no idea. But she needed all the help she could get, so...

"C'mere, babe..." And she'd only _just _managed to make it to the table when a pair of arms suddenly _tugged _her right into her contact's lap. "I missed ya, sweetie." He kissed the back of her neck and it was disgustingly wet and he absolutely _reeked _of alcohol.

_He usually wasn't this far gone when she first arrived. _And warning bells were starting to go off in the back of her mind, although she hurriedly pushed them aside as she carefully attempted to readjust herself so there was as much space as possible between them. "You started _without_ me?" She kept her tone teasing, although added in a bit of a whine.

And he just laughed, way too close to her ear. "We're celebratin', babe! Ya're talkin' to a future billionaire here!" He tugged her closer and then proceeded to down most of the drink that had been sitting in front of him. "Oi! Bartender! Get me the most expensive shit ya got back there for my gal!"

...This sounded interesting.

"A _billionaire_, Ricky?" That was almost definitely a complete exaggeration. But it still definitely sounded promising. "And where're you gettin' that much money?"

He responded with a grin, and then proceeded to empty his first—or _third_, actually—glass. Immediately moved on to the next afterwards. "I'll tell ya, babe. I'll tell ya. I told ya 'bout my job afore, right? How he don't appreciate all the work I put in?"

One of the things that made Rick a good contact was the fact that he _hated _the albino. And everyone else who ran the gang, even if he seemed pretty clueless about who those people actually were... He always complained that they didn't take him seriously enough; they never paid him enough and they kept all the best jobs for themselves.

It was pretty similar to her own situation, actually.

_Couldn't think about that. This _was _her job. Protecting the city; keeping innocent civilians safe._

She nodded encouragingly, somehow managing to keep from flinching as he began to run his hands along her thighs. _This could be important. This could be the break she needed..._

"Well, we're about to get a..." he chuckled. "Well, let's just say we're 'bout to get some new management."

_Huh?_

What in the world did he mean by _that_?

She sent him a slightly puzzled look, which he completely missed, as he'd thrown his head back and was now laughing uproariously at his own...joke, or whatever it was. "Some _new management..._ We're gonna get some _new _management all right."

"But, what do you _mean_?" She slipped into a whine as she attempted to manoeuvre herself away from the hands that were starting to scoot under her skirt. "You gettin' a new boss?"

He grinned and slapped her thigh, hard enough to sting for a few seconds, before nodding and taking another drink. "Yep. Gonna get a new boss who's gonna 'preciate the work I put in!"

...Welcome to her world. She wouldn't even be in this situation if her boss—or _any_ of the other men besides Johnson—would actually take her seriously.

"And I already got my first job, babe, so I'm gonna treat ya good tonight." He took another drink and then frowned toward the bar, waving his still not-quite-empty glass in the air. Almost splashing her in the process. "Hey, where the _fuck's_ my gal's drink?"

"And what's this new job gonna be, Ricky?" She tilted her head back and reached to run a hand along his chin, smiling in that flirting way that she knew drove him insane.

You know, she really would have felt bad for using his obvious attraction toward her against him, if it weren't for the fact that she knew exactly what kind of man that he was. Even with that knowledge, though, it was a little hard to keep her charade when he leaned in close and whispered in her ear, obviously extremely intoxicated. "Ya can keep a secret. Right, babe?"

There wasn't a moment's pause, though. That might give her away. "Course, Ricky."

"Well, babe." He was attempting to whisper, but failing for the most part. Although no one around them seemed to be paying them any mind anyway, besides the bartender...perhaps. "My job's—he's payin' me _good _for this too—I'm gonna be getting_ rid_ of the _old _management."

_Shit._

And he probably would have found her out in that next moment—because Lia _knew _that her face had to be revealing her horror—if it weren't for the sudden cease of the noise that had been surrounding them throughout this conversation. The drunken laughter, singing, voices raised in conversation. Everything but the bad seventies music suddenly stopped.

And call it a premonition, but Lia suddenly felt like she _really _didn't want to turn her head.

Of course, she turned her head anyway. And yeah, shedefinitely wished that she hadn't.

Because a figure was currently standing in the doorway to the bar, almost blocking out all of the light that had been streaming in from the street. A lit cigarette pressed against frowning lips as he breathed the smoke in and then released through his nostrils—yeah, she'd guessed that he wasn't going to be using the patches tonight...

And he was staring straight at her. Dark eyes almost entirely blank of emotion. _Almost_.

_Just _almost, though. Because Lia knew Johnson well enough to tell when he was upset or angry. And he was currently both.

_This night just kept getting better and better, didn't it?_

* * *

A/N: YAY! She lives!

Thank you guys so much for your patience. This chapter was just insanely hard to write. And it ended up being shorter than usual too. *facedesk* Sorry. It was a combination of lack of inspiration, a billion real life things getting in the way, and a perceived lack of interest in the story... But then a couple people emailed and asked about it so I decided to get back to working on it. So yeah...

Let's see. First things first. Lia's contact's name. Anybody notice something interesting about it? If you say the name slowly, it's easier to hear.

And secondly, one of you lovelies has done fanart for this story! So go and check it out on my profile and show love-love! :D

Also, random trivia fact of the day. My exclamation point key fell off in the middle of this chapter. It was an interesting situation... (That had nothing to do with anything; I just felt like pointing it out.)


	13. Chapter 13

**Behind the Veil**

**Part 13**

Arthur _technically_ wasn't supposed to be drinking on the job... Course, Francis wasn't _technically _supposed to flirt on the job and Gilbert wasn't _technically _supposed to have a boyfriend, but neither of them paid any mind to what they were supposed to do. And Arthur wasn't going to make things harder for himself just because Romano had been in a bad mood when he'd made the rules about assassination missions—because only _Romano_ would make rules about assassination missions.

Besides, it was much easier to blend in like this. He was just another drunk right now, half-slumped over the bar. Never mind that he was still on his first glass and was currently watching the inhabitants of the bar with focused attention.

"You're gonna owe me." And Arthur lifted his head at that voice, glancing toward the bartender. Robert, a _friend_—if you could consider anyone a friend in this racket. He was standing a few feet away, cleaning a shot wine glass with a damp rag. He didn't look at Arthur as he spoke. "You know the cops are gonna be crawlin' all over the place after you do whatever you're gonna do."

"Quit complaining." He waved the remark away with a flippant motion before taking another sip from his glass. He knew Rob would be able to handle any cops who showed up. And right now he had to focus on his target and the troublesome little cop.

Both of whom were standing at the moment. Ricky was weaving on his feet—obviously intoxicated—while the girl stood there, looking unsure of what she should do. As they were being approached by one of the biggest guys Arthur had ever laid eyes on.

_Huge_, muscular, five o'clock shadow, smoking a cigarette... Arthur knew that there was a rule against smoking inside, but nobody was moving to stop him.

His eyes were fixated on the table. No, not really on the table—more on Ricky.

Jealous boyfriend perhaps?

The girl was fidgeting as he kept moving closer, probably-unconsciously attempting to scoot herself behind the table, smoothing her dress downwards in an attempt to cover herself. Lost cause if you asked him.

"J—Johnson..." She flushed slightly, and Arthur couldn't tell if she were still in character or not. "What're you doing here? I told you—"

Johnson didn't respond. He just continued glaring at the man as he walked closer.

"Hey!" And Ricky had _definitely _had a little too much to drink, as he didn't back down when the man's dark, ice-cold eyes settled on him. "What'cha want, huh? Ya tryin'a start somethin'?"

"Ricky, I would—" And she was interrupted by her jealous boyfriend/husband/whatever he was, as he removed his jacket and dropped it over her shoulders. Apparently he didn't appreciate having every man in the building seeing her in what looked like lingerie...

"Go." Now he spoke, for the first time since he'd entered, removing the cigarette from between his lips and blowing out a stream of smoke.

"Ya wanna fight?" Ricky threw up his hands into a mock boxing move... Of course the cop had to find the most incompetent member of their gang to interrogate. Arthur definitely wouldn't mind stabbing that one right through the jugular.

Although he might be saved the trouble if the git kept antagonising this guy. This Johnson guy could probably snap the idiot in half without too much exertion. _And_ he looked like he was getting close to the breaking point; he took another drag from his cigarette and then took a step closer to the weaving Ricky.

"Johnson, don't!" Except the pretty little girl cop just _had _to mess things up again, as she proceeded to step in between them. Making Arthur's job more difficult again. "Don't fight with him!"

"Yeah! This here's ma girlfriend!"

Arthur stood, sliding a few dollars across the counter toward Robert, who just snorted in response. Ungrateful. This would probably end up bringing customers in... Being the site of a murder and all. A murder right in plain sight. Arthur's favourite type.

The girl was completely focused on her boyfriend now, attempting to calm him down and move him away as unobtrusively as possible. While Ricky was yelling, the words so slurred that Arthur doubted that anyone could understand him.

Step one, start a diversion. The simplest way? Start a fight.

All he had to do was find Eddy. One of the usual drunks who was currently sitting at the bar, waiting for another drink. A man who had an _extremely _bad temper once he'd gotten a few drinks into his system. Then wait until one of the waiters—Alexander, who also happened to have a nasty temper—started passing with a heavy drink tray, stumble into him, causing him to stumble into Eddy. Dropping most of the tray right into the ornery man's lap.

Not very original, but effective.

Step two, quickly remove yourself from the vicinity and get closer to your target.

The cop and her boyfriend immediately lost interest in Ricky after the first punch flew. Which made it incredibly easy for Arthur to wander closer to his unsuspecting target. Who was still shouting intelligibly.

Arthur had always preferred knives to guns. There was something more gentlemanly about knives for one thing—it gave the target more of a sporting chance for one thing. And there was something more _refined_ about them as well.

He smirked to himself as he slid a hand into his jacket pocket, his fingers loosely wrapped around the finely-carved ivory handle of his dagger. An ostentatious weapon, but there was really nothing wrong with _show_ sometimes...

The actual kill was quite dull to be honest. Wander behind Ricky, stumble into him just like he'd stumbled into the waiter. And then a quick stab right through the throat as he fell. The shouting from Eddy and Alexander covered up any sound that he might have made.

Simple. Too simple to be honest. No one had noticed a thing. He didn't even have to rush to make his escape. He could just wander over to the bar, order a bottle of scotch, receive an annoyed _look _from Robert, and start walking toward the door.

Dumb cop. She and the Johnson fellow were still attempting to break up the fight. Pretty soon they'd have something even larger to deal with...

And with that thought, he was gone.

He'd have to buy another dagger after this. Which was rather a pity, since he'd liked that one. But such was his line of work. It was safer to leave the weapon—as long as you were intelligent enough to wear gloves. Which he now slipped off and slid into his pocket.

And now Romano could rest a little easier knowing that one of their probably many informers was dead. Not that the kid ever _actually _slept, judging by the constant dark circles under his eyes. And not that killing the idiot would really help anything. Since Arthur already knew that there were plenty of other, much larger threats in the gang.

Namely Nicholas Ricci.

Ricci had been a member of the gang since the days when they'd served under Roma, Romano's grandfather. And Arthur was almost positive, although he had no _proof_, that Ricci had been the one to murder Roma... Probably because he'd assumed that _he _would be the next leader after Roma was dead. No one had expected the boss' grandson to step forward.

And Ricci definitely wasn't happy about that little turn of events...

Arthur yawned as he walked down the street, listening for the tell-tale sound of sirens. It wouldn't be long before the cop found Ricky's body...

But first he was going to open this bottle and start himself on the road to complete intoxication. As celebration for a job well-done or something like that.

Although he now noticed that he was about to pass through the part of town that was absolutely _drowning_ in college kid-popular clubs. The ones with constantly-changing multi-coloured lights and deafening "music", if you could call the trash that they listened to "music". One of the most disgusting parts of town in his opinion, but a good place to hide out. He was only a few years older than most of these kids after all—he could easily blend in.

Obnoxious gits, most of them. Arthur immediately opened his bottle—he was going to _need _it if he planned on spending more than a few seconds with any of them—and took a long swig. Glancing around at the students who were laughing, drinking, smoking, having a good time... Wasting their parents' precious tuition money.

He hated these sorts of kids. The ones who spent all their time partying and squandering the opportunity that they had. An opportunity that he'd never had... Never _would _have. You didn't get that sort of freedom when you'd been brought up to kill people.

"Can you believe that they wouldn't let me come? An _actual murder _and the chief wouldn't let me help! How am I supposed to be a hero if the chief won't let me come with them to investigate a _murder_?"

Arthur froze at that sudden voice coming from a short distance away. A cop?

No, he now identified the sound of the voice. Two college-age kids were standing right outside one of the bars—one of the gay bars, he quickly identified by the rainbow-coloured flag proudly flapping in the breeze—an Asian and a tall blond in glasses wearing a nice pair of pants and shined shoes, off-set by a worn gray hoodie with the name of some what-he-assumed-was-a-sports-team covering the front.

Arthur assumed _he_ was the one that had spoken and was proven correct when the Asian spoke in a much softer voice. "Well, you're only an intern..."

So the cops must have chosen a different route, since he hadn't heard the sirens and they apparently had already found the body. Unless, of course, there had been multiple murders tonight, which was entirely possible. Either way, it meant he was safe. Robert would make sure they were thrown off the scent.

This kid was interesting though. An intern at the police station? That could be useful...

He wanted to know what the cops knew—that girl now knew where Gilbert lived after all; she'd known that Rick worked for them—and if the gang could get information from someone on the inside... He just had to figure out a way in...

"Are you sure about this?" the Asian boy asked his friend, glancing toward the gay bar's entrance, looking rather unnerved. "Wouldn't it just be easier to wait—?"

"Dude..." and the blond suddenly smacked him on the back. Managing to hit him hard enough that he actually started falling forward; he just barely managed to catch himself before he fell right on his face. And his friend didn't even seem to notice. "You've had a crush on this guy for _how _long? We finally found out where he works and you don't want to go in? Come on!" He suddenly reached down and tugged his friend toward the doorway. "I told you I was going to be a hero and help you meet this guy and that's exactly what the hero's gonna do!"

... And the intern was obviously an idiot.

Which could also be useful.

"Come on, it's just like any other bar! Just full of dudes!" Another tug; this one hard enough to pull the boy entirely off balance. "I'll be right there with ya, don't worry!"

An idiot college kid in a gay bar...

Arthur knew he wasn't the most attractive person in the world—as Francis greatly enjoyed pointing out—but college kids weren't particularly picky and he _could _be charming when he wanted to be. And there was a lot you could get out of someone during a one night stand, right? And he knew that college kids often were more willing to experiment.

It would be worth it if he could get information about the cops from the kid. And he'd done lewd-and-indecent things with Francis on more than one occasion in the past.

Arthur sighed as he watched the two college kids enter the bar, then took another swig of his drink. He was _definitely _going to need all the alcohol he could consume tonight.

* * *

A/N: Hello my lovelies! Sorry this chapter was so long in coming. School kills us all and then I was using Winter Break as my rest time wherein I didn't do much of anything.

But here ya go! Oh Arthur... What are we going to do with you?

I'm in Buffalo this semester, which inspires me a ton for this story, so hopefully updates will be faster. They probably will. So yes. :)


	14. Chapter 14

**Behind the Veil**

**Part 14**

Well, it looked like Kirkland had actually managed to finish the job. Took the bastard long enough.

Lovino frowned as he watched the scene flicker across his television screen. The ambulances, the coroner's van, the police officers taping the area off while curious onlookers gathered around... One less liability in this deadly little game.

He'd just left his shower and was now standing, barefoot and bare-chested, in his living room, watching as the consequences of his orders flashed across the TV screen. He rubbed his damp hair with a towel as he watched them load the body into the coroner's van.

Funny how normal this all seemed to him now. He'd just ordereda man's death and he honestly felt nothing. No remorse or pity... Nothing but relief that he had one less thing to worry about.

He needed to sleep, but he doubted that he'd be able to. There were too many things that he needed to think about... That girl cop, Braginski, Ricci, the Spanish idiot...

Damn it, there were just too many unknown variables right now. And if he fucked _anything _up, he was as good as dead.

He groaned and then threw his towel toward the television, grunting irritably when he managed to completely miss. How much longer could he keep this up? He was absolutely exhausted, both mentally and physically. And he knew that it was only a matter of time before he screwed up... And then he'd end up just like his grandfather.

Not that it would really matter that much, since he was already dead to the rest of the world.

It'd been two years now. Two years spent living as a dead man. Hiding in this lousy little apartment complex under an assumed name alongside the rest of the city scum.

Of course he _could _live somewhere else. He had the money for it, after all. But it was easier to keep yourself anonymous around here. And that was what he most needed right now. Complete anonymity. It was the only way to keep himself—and by extension Feliciano—safe.

And he suddenly froze at a sudden rap on the front door. Entire body tensing as he waited, fingers inching toward the gun resting on the table beside him. The gun that never left his side.

Another rap, three second pause and then two in rapid succession. A two second pause this time and then three in succession.

_Francis._

Lovino allowed his hand to fall away from the gun as he sighed. Stupid bastard should know better than to bother him at this hour of the night.

Although to be honest, he'd expected the visit. After all, he'd ordered the hit on Rickety-bastard without the Frenchie's input. Not that he _needed _Francis's input. This was _his _gang, whether he really wanted it or not.

He didn't bother going to open the door for him. Bastard knew he was home, otherwise he wouldn't be here. Instead, he wandered over to his frayed and holey armchair and plopped down, moving so his back was resting against one armrest with his legs thrown over the other.

There was a moment of blessed silence before the door was pushed open and Francis's figure was outlined by the light streaming in from the hallway.

"Lovi?" He hesitated for a moment and then took a step inside. And _immediately_ tripped over a pair of boots that Lovino had left in front of the doorway to dry.

Lovino smirked at the deluge of French curses that proceeded to burst from his half-brother's lips. And then the irritated, "Why the hell do you always have to keep your room so _dark_? You're trying to kill me."

"That's the plan." Francis's head jerked in his direction at his words and he proceeded to take a hesitant step forward. And this time was greeted by an angry yowl as he placed his foot down right on the cat's tail.

And yes, that was what he called the bad-tempered, hissy little brown and white creature. Just 'the cat'. He'd found it outside the complex one day, starving and filthy. And he'd, well, taken it in for some stupid reason. Cleaned it up—and he'd gotten incredibly scratched up in the process—fed it, let it stay in his apartment... Now it just kind of hung around like it fucking owned the place.

"Don't step on the cat, idiot."

"Well maybe if you actually used your lamps..." There were a few more steps forward and then an exclamation of triumph before the room was flooded with light.

Which _hurt _damn it. The bastard hadn't even given him any warning.

"There we go! Much better! And I am sorry Monsieur Chat for stepping on your tail."

The cat just glared at him and then turned and ran away with a flick of its tail. Probably to go and gorge itself like usual.

"What do you want, Francis?" Not that he really needed to ask, since he had a pretty good idea of what Francis wanted. Namely to know why Rickety-bastard was dead.

Of course, the bastard wasn't going to just come out and say it. No, he was going to wander around the room instead, looking over the flea market furniture and random little knick-knacks that he'd bought in a futile attempt to make the place more liveable.

And then he paused, staring at the wall... Or, to be more specific, at the painting that took up almost the entirety of the space above the stupid television that still going on about the murder. The noise was starting to drive Lovino crazy.

"He still misses you," Francis murmured the words just loudly enough for Lovino to hear. "You can tell; it's everywhere in his artwork."

"He'll get over it."

Except he knew he wouldn't. Because Feli was sensitive like that; it was part of what made him such a great painter. He was overly in-tune with both his and others' emotions, even those emotions that did nothing but hurt him.

Francis chose to ignore his remark. The idiot just continued to stand there, staring at the painting... The painting that Lovino had Alcide buy for him a few tears ago, at an art show the school had put on to benefit the art program. Each student had prepared a variety of pieces to auction off. Lovino, through Alcide, had managed to snatch up all of his brother's work. For at least a hundred a piece, because he _deserved _it.

That one was simultaneously his most treasured and most hated piece. Because this was the pain that he'd caused his brothers. The reds and oranges and flame-like wraiths that haunted the foreground like a nightmare. This image portrayed the pain that he'd caused Feliciano when he faked his death.

"What do you _want_?" he asked again, wanting Francis _away _from that painting.

And he finally turned, his expression slightly annoyed. But he forced a smile as he walked across the room and took a seat on Lovino's couch, wincing a little as one of the springs dug into his back. "You ordered Arthur to kill Rick Andrews today, oui?"

"Yeah." He slouched in his seat, watching as the cat walked back into the room and began clawing at the back of Francis's seat. He felt like he was about to be scolded. Which was stupid, because _he _was the gang's leader. _He _was the one who was most at risk.

Francis didn't yell, though. He just _sighed_, instead, and allowed his head to fall against the back of his chair. "Was that the most intelligent thing to do, frère?"

Lovino scowled. Both at the remark and the nickname. "He was talking to a cop. You think I should have killed the cop too?"

"Non. But I think we should have talked about this before you did anything. This might anger some of the other members..."

Like they weren't already angry with him. Like they weren't already planning to overthrow and kill him.

Fuck, he was so tired of this shit...

And he was a little surprised when Francis suddenly stood, sending him a smile that was probably supposed to be reassuring as he walked to the armchair and then knelt down in front of him.

"What are you doing, bastard?" he questioned suspiciously, lifting his legs away from the personal space invader.

Francis just sighed and then rose onto his knees, reaching up and then _pinching _Lovino's right arm. Which earned him a startled yelp and then a semi-enraged slap on the arm, which he just shrugged off. And then, like it was perfectly normal, "You need to take better care of yourself, mon cher frère. You're just skin and bones. And you look exhausted."

"Shut up." The last thing Lovi needed was the stupid Frenchie telling him things that he already knew. "And we're _half_-brothers. Which means that I won't feel bad at all if I have to put a bullet through your skull someday. Just remember that."

He didn't even seem _perturbed_ by the threat. He just smiled and then reached up and tousled Lovino's hair like he was some little kid or something. "Half-brother, whole brother... Either way, I need to make sure that mon cher frère is taking care of himself."

"I don't need anyone taking care of me." And he knew that he'd sounded like a child when he said that. A petulant child.

"Of course." And now Francis was just_ humouring _him. But, before Lovino could protest more, his voice shifted. Into something more commanding and serious. Serious enough that Lovi straightened in his seat and shut up. "Rick Andrews' death will be _investigated _by our dear police chief, oui? The case, however, will, unfortunately, never be closed. Tragic, but it happens, right?"

"Yeah." His gaze flickered over to the television. They were interviewing someone who Lovino assumed was the bar's owner, a fat man who kept wringing his hands nervously. Idiot. This would probably be good for business. Visit the bar where a man was stabbed to death, the case never solved.

"The weapons went out to Braginski fine?"

"Yeah, except..." He'd almost forgotten all about what had happened earlier this evening in the excitement caused by planning for Ricky's murder and everything. "Nobody showed up at the warehouse to unload. Nobody 'cept Gilbert, Arthur, and Alcide."

And Francis's eyebrows rose slightly at that. "Really?"

"Yes. Really." Why would he say so if it weren't true? "So I moved everything to a different warehouse." And he felt a little proud of that fact. See? He didn't need the Frenchie for everything.

Not that Francis even bothered congratulating him on his good thinking or anything. He just continued kneeling there, apparently lost deep in thought.

Which Lovino interrupted after a few moments. "I'm pretty sure it was Ricci. We all know that he hates me and wants me out of the picture."

"Oui." Francis nodded in agreement, "That seems to be the most likely explanation."

"So why don't we finally do something to get _rid_ of him?" Except he knew, even as he said it, that things didn't work like that. He didn't have enough men on his side to take on Ricci. Hell, the only people he could be even semi-confident in were Arthur, Gilbert, Francis, and Alcide.

It was only a matter of time before they killed him. And after they killed him, they'd go after Feliciano.

Fuck, he was so _tired_.

"Don't worry." And he glanced up—when had he even looked down?—to meet Francis's determined eyes. "I promise. I promise, Lovi, that I'll take care of everything."

Lovi. Francis was the only one who called him that anymore—and only in these private moments. To the members of the gang, he was Romano. The grandson of Roma. Destined to follow him in death.

He just needed to keep things stable until Feliciano graduated. Once he graduated, he'd probably move to Italy or somewhere in Europe, become a famous artist. Then it wouldn't matter what happened to him. Lovino was already dead, after all. It wouldn't matter what much if Romano followed.

Except, apparently, to Francis.

Which Lovino was _not _comfortable with. Which was _probably_ why he now stood up and walked over to where the cat was still destroying his couch, picked the animal up and ignored its attempts to claw away from him. And then turned, motioning toward the door with his now-full arms. "You just make sure that idiot roommate of yours doesn't poke his nose where it doesn't belong. That's _all _you need to worry about."

That was all he _wanted _Francis to worry about.

That was all _he _wanted to worry about.

He was just so _tired_.

* * *

A/N: I feel bad for Lovino. I can't even imagine the pressure he's got to be under.

I don't really have anything else to say. Just poor Lovino. And most other characters in this story. So much stressfulness.

Oh, and the cat is kitty!Romano in case you were wondering. Lovi likes to pretend he didn't have a choice in taking it in and everything, but he really took it in because he was lonely in his little apartment and needed a pet. He just got a grumpy one that takes after its master very muchly.


End file.
